THE 


HORNET'S 

"NEST 


MRS. 

WILSON 
WOODROW 


lA- 


v 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST 


Oh,"  she  showed  the  edge  of  her  teeth  in  a  flashing  smile, 
"  you  did  have  the  nerve  to  follow  it  up?  "    FRONTISPIECE. 
See  page  77. 


BY 

MRS.  WILSON  WOODROW 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

PAUL  STAHR 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1917 


Copyright, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 


Published,  March,  1917 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Oh,"  she  showed  the  edge  of  her  teeth  in  a  flashing 
smile,  "you  did  have  the  nerve  to  follow  it 
up?" Frontispiece 

PAGE 

He  gripped  Ashe's  arm  with  his  long,  slender,  uncan- 
nily efficient  fingers 90 

For  the  first  time  he  could  scan  his  antagonist  of  this 
cloak-and-lantern  duel 159 

Her  glance  was  full  of  a  quizzical  mockery    ....  233 


2228500 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  Girl  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  from  Fifty- 
ninth  street,  while  the  Ghost  walked  up  from  Four- 
teenth. Since  they  were  on  the  same  side  of  the 
street,  their  passing  was  as  inevitable  as  it  was  un- 
premeditated. Converging  rays  from  widely  differ- 
ing spheres,  they  were  destined  by  the  sheer  logic  of 
direction  to  meet. 

The  Girl's  name  was  Muriel  Fletcher,  and  she  was 
about  twenty  years  old.  Now  and  then  as  she  walked, 
some  one  would  turn  to  look  at  her.  Her  individual- 
ity was  even  more  arresting  and  vivid  than  her  looks, 
and  yet  upon  that  mere  question  of  looks  she  was  not 
easily  to  be  ignored.  There  was  a  sort  of  vital  glow 
about  her,  but  it  was  the  glow  of  fire  not  of  sunshine, 
and  it  had  its  contrasting  —  one  might  better  say,  its 
corresponding  —  gloom,  a  gloom  with  an  edge  on  it. 

No  matter  from  what  point  of  view  one  took  her, 
whether  mental  or  physical,  one  quality  always  seemed 
to  contradict  another.  Her  melody  had  its  dis- 
sonances. 

To  get  the  purely  physical  presentment  of  her  then, 
it  may  have  been  her  hair  —  deep,  thick  auburn-brown 
in  some  lights,  red  in  others  —  which  helped  most  in 
producing  that  effect  of  dark  splendor.  Her  face  was 
square  rather  than  oval,  but  it  took  a  second  glance  to 


2  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

note  that  her  chin,  so  whitely  round,  was  tilted  at  a 
particularly  defiant  angle.  Her  mouth,  not  small,  was 
sullen  and  secretive;  but  being  softly  and  richly  red, 
this  passed  unregarded. 

Her  eyes  were  remarkable,  a  dense,  dusky  green  — 
olive  almost  —  with  a  long  sweep  of  the  brows  and 
lids  which  gave  a  languid  subtlety  to  her  expression ; 
yet  this  was  but  a  matter  of  line,  for  when  she  really 
opened  them,  the  impression  of  mystery  and  romance 
vanished.  They  were  almost  disconcertingly  intelli- 
gent. 

Her  skin  was  of  the  smooth,  thick  whiteness  of  the 
camellia,  and  it  was  only  when  the  color  rose  in  her 
cheeks  that  she  was  obviously  beautiful. 

New  York  is  the  city  of  a  thousand  worlds,  each 
distinct  and  yet  oddly  interpenetrating;  but  each  has 
its  own  particular  hallmark  with  which  it  stamps  in- 
delibly its  denizens.  On  Muriel  Fletcher  was  the  seal 
of  the  world  of  leisure  and  enjoyment.  She  moved  in 
the  atmosphere  of  its  supreme  confidence.  It  was  the 
only  world  she  had  ever  known  or  could  imagine,  and 
yet  for  days,  for  weeks,  now,  she  had  been  vaguely 
aware  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  an  excursion  into 
far  different  and  wider  ones.  She  thrilled  to  the  call 
of  the  unknown. 

The  material  aspect  of  the  Avenue,  with  its  splendid 
offerings  of  rugs  and  silks,  its  mosaic  of  flowers  and 
jewels  behind  the  broad,  plate-glass  windows,  and  its 
crowding  procession  of  shining  motors  in  the  roadway, 
was  too  familiar  to  impress  her.  Objects  did  not 
interest  her;  people  did.  She  scrutinized  the  passers- 
by  as  if  she  were  looking  for  some  one.  And,  indeed, 
she  was.  This  afternoon  walk  was  no  aimless  stroll, 
but  a  quest  —  a  secret,  definite  quest. 


THE  HORNETS  NEST  3 

The  Ghost  and  she  were  constantly  drawing  nearer. 
Only  a  block  or  so  separated  them  now;  and  for  her 
with  a  present  and  no  past,  and  for  him  with  a  past 
but  no  present,  the  future  was  at  hand.  She  was 
ready  for  it.  As  she  walked,  her  hand  clutched  the 
more  tightly  something  in  her  muff  —  a  small,  hard 
package  wrapped  in  white  paper. 

When  the  Ghost  in  his  walk  up  the  Avenue  had 
reached  Madison  Square,  he  paused  to  gaze  uncer- 
tainly at  the  northward  perspective. 

The  years  and  change  are  synonymous.  The  last 
time  Ashe  Colvin  had  gazed  at  Madison  Square  and 
its  environs,  the  Dewey  Arch  still  spanned  the  road- 
way, somewhat  battered  and  discolored,  it  is  true,  with 
its  mermaids  and  Tritons  sadly  in  need  of  a  bath,  and 
great  holes  knocked  in  its  base  to  expose  the  hollow 
mockery  of  its  lath  and  plaster  construction,  yet  im- 
pressive even  in  its  decay,  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than 
merely  to  grace  a  single  holiday. 

Over  to  the  east  of  the  Park,  Colvin  saw  now,  in- 
stead of  the  brown  stone  houses  he  remembered,  a 
huddle  of  skyscrapers,  and  a  great  dominating  clock- 
tower  of  white  marble.  Ahead  of  him,  the  old  Bruns- 
wick Hotel  had  given  way  to  a  lofty  structure  of  red 
brick;  across  on  the  Broadway  side,  the  Albemarle 
and  the  Hoffman  House  were  in  course  of  demolition, 
and  the  famous  Fifth  Avenue  with  its  porticoed  front 
had  been  supplanted  by  a  modern  office  building,  while 
on  the  site  of  the  former  dingy  Flatiron  had  risen  a 
soaring  triangle,  which  even  a  ghost  could  hardly  fail 
to  recognize.  Surely  Hades  must  have  picture  post- 
cards—  else  it  would  not  be  Hades. 

Searching  for  some  familiar  landmark,  Colvin  could 


4  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

discover  only  the  Garden  with  its  lovely  soaring  Diana, 
and  the  faded  five-story  building  which  houses  the 
School  of  Languages,  and  even  the  latter  was  shad- 
owed by  the  rough  board  shack  and  stone  heaps  of  a 
construction  station  for  the  new  aqueduct,  which 
might  have  been  the  shaft  house  and  ore  dumps  of  a 
Colorado  mine  transplanted  bodily  from  Leadville  or 
Victor. 

The  sight  of  all  this  welter  of  change  and  innova- 
tion stirred  Colvin's  dead  soul  to  a  faint  flutter  of 
curiosity,  a  dull  desire  for  further  exploration. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  muttered,  "  if  it's  just  as  different 
all  the  way  up  town." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  half-turned  back,  then  re- 
considering, faced  about  again,  and  with  a  little  tingle 
of  excitement  walked  on  toward  Murray  Hill. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  spectral  about  his 
advance :  no  unearthly  blue  light,  nor  any  other  weird 
and  uncanny  manifestation.  On  the  contrary,  he 
walked  quite  regularly,  in  the  clear  light  of  the  sunny 
October  afternoon,  along  crowded  Fifth  Avenue. 

These  things  are  "  not  done  "  by  apparitions ;  but 
Ashe  Colvin  was  a  ghost  just  the  same  —  the  mere 
dead  simulacrum  of  a  man  who  fifteen  years  before 
had  laid  down  a  life  brimming  high  with  youth  and 
ambition  and  promise,  to  go  out  into  oblivion. 

Like  the  Dewey  Arch  which  lingered  in  his  memory, 
he  had  held  for  a  day  the  admiration  and  applause  of 
his  world.  Then  mudbespattered,  with  his  reputation 
falling  from  him  in  great  shreds  and  patches,  he  had 
hidden  himself  in  the  vast,  human  dump  heap  of  the 
East  Side. 

At  twenty-five,  Colvin  had  accomplished  more  than 
most  men  can  boast  of  at  forty.  It  is  usually  some 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  5 

cave  man  from  the  West  or  South  who  comes  in  to 
knock  New  York  over  the  head  with  his  club,  and  win 
her  adoring  submission ;  but  Colvin  was  a  New  Yorker 
born  and  bred  with  a  pedigree  so  cross-hatched  with 
Rhinelanders,  and  DePeysters,  and  Livingstons,  and 
Van  Cortlandts,  that  it  read  like  a  down-town  street 
directory.  He  had  been  acquainted  with  ringer  bowls 
from  his  youth  up,  and  took  a  butler  as  much  for 
granted  as  a  house  cat. 

With  his  Harvard  accent,  and  his  Thirty-seventh 
Street  tailor,  and  his  habit  of  getting  what  he  wanted, 
they  sent  him  up  to  Albany  as  a  member  of  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly,  and  he  had  made  good. 

He  was  a  lawyer  who  had  sat  at  the  feet  of  Joseph 
Choate,  and  had  crossed  swords,  not  unsuccessfully, 
with  DeLancy  Nicoll.  He  could  stroll  into  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  and  sit  down  on  a  red  plush  bench 
beside  Platt  in  the  Amen  Corner  without  any  one 
raising  a  question  —  and  those  were  the  days  when 
a  nod  from  the  "  Easy  Boss  "  was  like  an  accolade 
from  Royalty. 

You  might  see  him  on  first  nights  at  the  Empire, 
or  at  Daly's  chatting  in  the  foyer  with  Gebhardt  or 
Stanford  White,  stopping  to  congratulate  Clyde  Fitch 
on  his  latest  success,  or  bending  down  to  listen  to 
Marshall  Wilder's  newest  joke. 

In  the  paddock  at  Sheepshead  Bay,  he  would  be 
hobnobbing  with  John  Madden,  or  Rogers,  or  some 
of  the  other  big  trainers,  or  sauntering  over  for  a 
word  with  Tod  Sloane  or  George  Odom,  as  they 
waited  in  their  silks  for  the  bugle  call;  and  then,  in 
front  of  the  clubhouse,  he  would,  as  likely  as  not, 
watch  the  race  in  company  with  Keene  or  \Vhitney, 
or  a  group  of  other  great  men  of  the  turf. 


6  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

At  the  Opera  House,  one  would  be  sure  to  see  him 
in  the  box  of  either  Mrs.  Fish  or  Mrs.  Astor.  No 
Matriarch's,  Patriarch's,  or  Junior  Assembly  was 
quite  complete  without  him;  and  although  he  was  no 
gambler,  the  doors  of  Canfield's  peachblow  palace 
were  always  open  to  him.  From  Harlem  to  the 
Battery,  and  from  Chuck  Conners  to  Bishop  Potter, 
he  knew  everybody,  and  everybody  knew  him. 

Before  him  he  saw  nothing  but  plain  sailing. 
Albany  and  the  General  Assembly  for  a  few  years, 
and  then  Congress.  So  far  as  that  he  was  prom- 
ised. 

And  then,  as  by  a  prearranged  signal,  the  lights 
went  out  suddenly  in  his  house  of  mirth ;  and  upon  the 
brilliant  spectacle  of  his  popularity,  the  curtain  was 
rung  sharply  down. 

Nearer  and  nearer  drew  the  Girl  and  the  Ghost; 
and  now  the  moment  had  come  in  which  he  with  a 
past  and  no  future,  and  she  with  a  future  and  no  past 
must  meet. 

She,  seeking  constantly  for  the  one  who  was  to 
serve  her  purpose,  saw  him  first.  A  tall  man,  with 
the  hopelessness  of  failure  in  his  vague,  sad  eyes, 
appearing  dull  and  shabby  in  comparison  with  the 
vivid  burnish  of  the  Avenue  folk;  and  yet,  in  spite 
of  the  shadow  in  which  he  walked  —  a  metaphorical 
shadow,  but  none  the  less  perceptible  —  his  inherent 
distinction,  his  unsubduable  individuality  still  had 
power  to  reduce  the  crowds  about  him  to  a  mere 
blurred  background. 

Muriel,  as  she  saw  him,  half-lifted  one  hand  as  if 
to  brush  a  perplexing  cobweb  from  her  eyes.  In  a 
vivid  flash  of  memory,  she  seemed  to  see  a  picture  of 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  7 

a  Christmas  party  in  their  old  Long  Island  house, 
and  she,  a  tiny  child,  sitting  on  the  knee  of  a  hand- 
some young  man  with  eyes  full  of  laughter,  who  was 
making  her  repeat  "  The  Night  before  Christmas  " 
after  him. 

"  The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 
Gave  a  luster  of  mid-day  to  objects  below.  .  .  ." 

She  remembered  how  her  baby  lips  had  twisted  and 
tangled  the  unfamiliar  words. 

On  his  side,  Colvin,  wandering  a^ng  in  the  haze 
of  a  thousand  recollections,  only  occasionally  sight- 
ing some  landmark  like  the  Holland  House,  or  the 
Waldorf  to  assure  him  that  this  was  still  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, became  suddenly  conscious  of  the  gaze  that  was 
fixed  on  him.  Their  glances  held  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  saw  her  give  a  quick  nod  of  decision,  and  move 
toward  him. 

Her  face  had  paled,  her  eyes  stormed  him,  be- 
sought him.  She  drew  her  hand  from  her  muff,  and 
in  it  he  saw  the  small  white  parcel.  Then,  as  she  held 
it  out  toward  him,  he  halted  and  half  drew  back.  But 
the  girl  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  refuse. 

"  Take  it,  please,"  she  murmured,  and  thrusting  it 
into  his  hand,  pushed  on  to  lose  herself  immediately 
in  the  crowd. 

Half  a  block  farther  on,  Colvin  cautiously  opened 
his  hand.  The  package  was  wrapped  in  white  paper, 
and  tied  with  a  cord.  He  was  before  the  Library. 
Hesitating  a  moment,  he  mounted  the  broad,  white 
steps  between  the  smug,  grinning  lions,  until  he 
reached  the  flagged  walk;  there  he  saw  a  stone  bench 
unoccupied.  He  sat  down  and  cautiously  unwrapped 
the  parcel  It  contained  a,  visiting  card  and  a.  small, 


8  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

gold  coin  purse.     Upon  the  card  was  engraved  the 
name: 

Miss  MURIEL  FLETCHER 

4  East  Seventy-Sixth  Street 

There  was  also  scribbled  upon  it  in  pencil  this 
request : 

"  Will  you  call  at  the  address  on  this  card  at  nine 
o'clock  this  evening  for  the  purpose  of  returning  the 
purse  and  its  contents.  Ask  for  Miss  Fletcher.  It  is 
a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance  to  me. 

M.  F." 

Frowning,  puzzled,  he  turned  the  purse  over  in  his 
hand,  and  then  opened  it.  It  held  a  few  coins,  an- 
other visiting  card,  the  duplicate  of  the  first,  but  with- 
out the  penciled  no.te,  and  a  beautiful  diamond  and 
pearl  pendant. 

He  stared  at  this  for  a  dazed  moment,  and  then, 
suddenly  mindful  of  the  passers-by,  slipped  it  into  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  He  drew  a  pipe  and  some 
tobacco  from  another  pocket,  filled  and  lighted  the 
pipe,  and  then  sat  gazing  down  at  the  broken  bricks 
in  the  walk  before  him. 

The  one  emotion  of  which  he  was  conscious  for  a 
long  time  was  a  passive  sort  of  astonishment,  mingled 
with  an  obstinate  incredulity,  and  an  inability  to  grasp 
the  facts  of  the  situation  in  which  he  found  himself. 

The  early  autumn  dusk  had  begun  to  fall,  the  Octo- 
ber chill  was  in  the  air,  the  film  of  gray  was  rapidly 
obscuring  the  gold  of  the  streets;  but  Colvin  never 
saw  it.  His  mind  worked  slowly  nowadays.  He  had 
lived  for  long  what  might  be  called  the  cloistered  life 
and  had  unconsciously  suffered  the  gradual  condensa- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  9 

tion  and  narrowing  of  his  few  indifferent  interests  — 
these,  since  an  income  which  he  had  inherited  from 
his  mother  relieved  him  of  the  necessity  of  earning  his 
living,  the  public  reading  rooms  of  the  East  Side 
where  he  browsed  for  hours  a  day,  and  long  walks, 
sometimes  through  the  sordid  and  uninspiring  streets 
to  which  he  had  hitherto  confined  himself,  and  some- 
times into  the  open  country,  provided  his  only  occu- 
pation. He  gave  less  time  to  the  few  acquaintances 
he  had  made  in  the  course  of  his  exile.  With  not  one 
of  them  was  there  any  bond  of  congeniality.  He  and 
they  were  too  widely  separated  by  an  entirely  opposite 
social  consciousness,  and  were  merely  drawn  together 
by  the  gregarious  instinct  into  a  purely  superficial 
comradeship. 

Then  there  were  his  little  charities,  the  amusement 
of  telling  stories  to  the  children  who  clustered  about 
him  in  the  public  parks,  a  spell  of  nursing  now  and 
then,  a  little  legal  or  medical  advice. 

Destiny  —  the  whole  question  of  fate  —  he  re- 
garded, if  he  thought  of  it  at  all,  with  amused  skep- 
ticism. Why  waste  time  on  childish  abstractions? 
There  were  laws  of  cause  and  effect  in  the  mental  as 
well  as  in  the  physical  realm.  A  belief  in  any  infrac- 
tion of  them  was  pure  superstition.  And  yet,  this 
very  afternoon,  the  impossible,  the  incredible,  the  un- 
explainable  had  happened. 

Gradually,  as  his  mind  accustomed  itself  to  the  un- 
believable situation  in  which  he  found  himself  in- 
volved, his  thoughts  reverted  more  and  more  insist- 
ently to  the  girl.  « 

Was  it  not  plausible  to  consider  her  mentally  un- 
balanced? Some  daughter  of  wealth  —  evidently 
that  —  who  had  succeeded  in  temporarily  evading  her 


io  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

attendants,  and  had  chosen  this  fantastic  method  of 
apparently  losing  her  purse  containing  a  little  money, 
a  valuable  jewel,  and  a  visiting  card  with  her  name 
and  address  on  it,  in  an  attempt  to  enlist  aid  in  effect- 
ing her  final  escape? 

Plausible  and  reasonable;  yes.  But  his  mind  re- 
jected the  hypothesis.  He  had  looked  into  her  eyes, 
and  he  did  not  believe  that  she  was  crazy.  Her  mo- 
tive? Well,  that  enigma  was  for  the  evening  to  un- 
ravel. He  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  new,  the 
unexpected.  He  had  no  idea  of  what  awaited  him  on 
the  other  side ;  but  he  meant  to  see. 

He  had  come  upon  that  door  in  the  wall  of  Fate 
which  every  man  with  a  drop  of  red  blood  in  his  veins 
longs  to  open.  And  while  he  sat  considering  it,  there 
began  to  tingle  in  his  nerves  and  sing  in  his  brain 
the  most  alluring  and  provocative  strain  that  the  heart 
of  man  has  ever  listened  to  —  the  call  of  adventure. 

He  was  thousands  of  years  old.  The  world  was 
over  and  done  for  him.  And  yet,  through  all  the  sub- 
merged and  wasted  manhood  of  him,  that  unspent, 
dynamic  energy  which  had  been  stifled  and  suppressed 
until  it  was  lethalized  and  paralyzed,  there  began  to 
wake  and  throb  some  tremendous  response  to  that 
great,  primitive  need  which  is  as  strong  as  sex  or 
hunger  —  the  old,  old  passion,  Adventure. 

Colvin  drew  a  great  breath  which  expanded  his 
ribs  until  they  seemed  to  crack.  Maybe,  maybe,  there 
was  a  chance  for  one  good  fight  yet!  If  the  gods 
would  give  him  that,  let  him  pit  his  trained  muscles, 
which  owing  to  some  old  habit  of  bodily  discipline  he 
had  kept  in  condition  through  the  barren  years,  and 
at  the  same  time  give  him  a  chance  to  match  his  wits 
with  a  tangible  foe,  he'd  call  it  all  quits. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  n 

Muriel  Fletcher?  Muriel  Fletcher?  He  knew  that 
name.  It  had  been  long  tucked  away  somewhere  in 
his  memory.  Why?  It  must  be  the  same.  He  had 
known  her  as  a  pretty  child.  It  was  all  coming  back 
to  him  now.  Her  father  had  been  Jask  Fletcher,  and 
her  mother  was  Betty  Whiten" eld  and  they  had  both 
gone  down  in  a  great  disaster  at  sea. 

This  girl  was  related  to  the  Whitefields.  Old  Wil- 
liam Whitefield,  who  had  been  instrumental  in  putting 
him  through  the  mill  and  grinding  him  to  grist,  must 
be  her  uncle. 

What  did  they  mean  by  letting  that  child  wander 
about  the  streets,  and  give  diamond  pendants  to  stray 
tramps?  Was  it  a  ruse  to  get  him  back  into  the 
game  and  into  their  power  again  some  way?  Well, 
what  if  it  were?  That  meant  action  —  the  fight  his 
whole  body  and  brain  ached  for.  And  no  matter  what 
lay  before  him,  he  meant  to  see  it  through. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  gray,  October  dusk  had  deepened  until  the 
myriad,  regular  lines  of  electric  globes  had  begun  to 
bloom  like  yellow  flowers  through  the  dim,  purple  twi- 
light and  still  Colvin  sat  staring  at  the  flags  at  his 
feet,  the  broken  pattern  of  which  he  could  no  longer 
trace.  The  traffic  —  that  impatient  crowding  traffic 
of  home-going  motors  —  was  growing  denser  every 
moment.  There  was  a  sort  of  strident  rising  and  fall- 
ing rhythm  in  the  hoarse  honk  of  their  horns.  The 
pedestrians  walked  more  briskly,  as  if  hastening  to 
escape  the  impending  army  of  workers  who  would 
pour  out  from  the  shops  and  offices  and  take  posses- 
sion of  the  Avenue  and  the  side  streets  with  their 
solid,  marching  phalanxes. 

As  if  all  this  in  some  indefinite  way  conveyed  to 
Colvin  the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the  necessity  for 
haste  on  his  part,  he  presently  roused  from  his  long 
reverie,  and  lifting  his  head,  looked  anxiously,  and  in 
an  almost  alarmed  manner,  about  him. 

He  had  forgotten  time  altogether  as  he  sat  there, 
and  now  he  remembered  that  there  were  many  things 
to  be  done  before  nine  o'clock.  Then  his  eyes 
widened.  A  double-decked,  green  motor-bus  lum- 
bered into  view  —  another  innovation  since  his  day  — 
and  he  decided  to  take  it,  and  ride  down  as  far  as  it 
went. 

It  stopped  before  the  curb,  and  he  hurried  down  the 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  13 

Library  steps  to  board  it  before  the  painted  disks  of 
the  semaphore  at  the  next  street  intersection  should 
swing  about  with  their  imperative  order  "  Go !  " 

That  newly  roused  spirit  of  adventure  was  dominant 
in  him.  He  climbed  the  steps  and  narrow  stairway 
to  the  top  of  the  bus,  found  a  front  seat  vacant,  and 
swept  off  his  hat,  inhaling  a  great  draught  of  air  with 
the  faint  and  excited  tingling  of  the  nerves  which  still 
persisted,  and  which  roused  in  him  an  almost  appre- 
hensive wonder. 

To  one  who  had  been  dead  so  long  as  he,  it  was  a 
strange,  almost  awesome  thing  to  realize  that  one  was 
still  alive.  It  frightened  him.  He  shrank  from  this 
buried  self  in  him,  which  stirred  in  its  grave  clothes 
and  threatened  to  rise,  not  lethargic  from  its  long, 
drugged  slumber,  but  a  giant  refreshed,  thrilling  with 
a  new  life,  awake  to  a  thousand  crowding  desires,  on 
edge  to  play  the  game. 

That  ride  down  the  Avenue  did  more  to  awaken 
and  to  free  him  than  it  .was  possible  for  him  to  appre- 
ciate at  the  time.  The  ichor  his  starved  impulses 
craved  was  distilled  in  the  spacious  and  splendid  street 
—  commercialized,  almost  brutalized,  like  the  great 
city  of  which  it  is  the  main  artery,  and  yet,  like  the 
city,  unequalled  in  youth,  luxury,  and  hard,  reckless 
daring. 

He  got  off  under  the  trees  of  Washington  Square, 
and  turning  eastward,  plunged  through  a  mesh  of 
streets  toward  his  home.  He  was  used  to  them,  sor- 
did, dismal,  with  no  skyscrapers  to  give  them  a  stark 
and  violent  impressiveness.  And  here  the  atmosphere 
was  no  longer  stimulating  but  depressing. 

These  streets  typified  that  restriction  of  idea  and 
impulse  which  translates  itself  into  environment,  and 


14  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

is  —  Poverty.  But  to-night  Colvin  had  no  mind  to 
occupy  himself  with  philosophical  deductions  drawn 
from  obvious  comparisons.  He  strode  along,  ob- 
livious to  the  sordid  world  about  him,  subconsciously 
taking  the  right  turnings,  his  conscious  mind  busy  with 
other  things,  until  he  reached  his  dingy  lodgings. 

These  were  in  an  old  house  which  had  long  ago  been 
a  dignified  and  imposing  residence,  and  which  in  spite 
of  the  cheap  shops  that  filled  the  contracted  space  of 
the  basement  and  first  floor,  still  retained  an  air  of 
detached  and  mournful  dignity.  It  was  kept  by  a 
German  family  who  let  out  the  rooms,  and  it  was  at 
least  clean,  although  sadly  out  of  repair. 

Colvin  climbed  the  stairs  and  let  himself  in  with  a 
latchkey  to  the  little  flat  which  he  had  so  long  occu- 
pied, a  front  room  of  fairly  large  size,  and  a  smaller 
bedroom  and  bath.  It  was  dark,  and  he  struck  a 
match,  and  lighted  a  whistling,  flaring  gas  jet.  The 
room  revealed  was  plain,  austere,  and  yet  comfortable. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  books  which  reached 
almost  to  the  ceiling ;  a  table  in  the  center  was  crowded 
with  newspapers  and  magazines.  There  were  several 
chairs  and  one  or  two  other  articles  of  furniture,  but 
not  an  ornament,  a  picture,  or  even  a  photograph  that 
was  reminiscent  of  his  old  life. 

He  pushed  a  chair  or  so  out  of  the  way,  and  open- 
ing a  closet  door,  dragged  out  an  old  trunk,  and  kneel- 
ing beside  it,  raised  the  lid.  Then  he  drew  out  a  suit 
of  evening  clothes.  A  queer  smile  came  over  his  face, 
as  he  shook  them  out,  and  held  them  between  the  light 
and  himself. 

They  had  been  lying  away  so  long  that  they  were  a 
mass  of  wrinkles.  It  seemed  improbable  that  even 
the  tailor's  iron  could  smooth  them  out  after  all  these 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  15 

years.  They  must  be  grotesquely  out-of-date,  no 
doubt  of  that.  But  even  so,  the  idea  of  not  wearing 
them  never  entered  his  head. 

Folding  them  up,  he  hastily  wrapped  them  in  paper, 
stuffed  them  under  his  arm,  hurried  down-stairs  and 
out  into  the  street  again.  He  went  straight  to  a 
dingy,  little  basement  shop,  where  a  homemade  sign 
swung  in  the  window.  The  sign  was  of  white  card- 
board, the  bottom  of  a  box,  and  painted  on  it  in 
crude,  straggling  black  letters  was  the  notice  that 
"  Max  "  did  pressing  and  repairing  of  "  gents'  gar- 
ments." 

As  Colvin  opened  the  door,  a  bell  jangled,  and 
"  Max  "  looked  up  from  a  cashbook  he  was  studying 
behind  a  heap  of  clothes  on  a  counter.  He  was  an 
anemic,  undersized  Jew,  with  bowlegs  and  protruding, 
light  blue  eyes. 

Sighing  heavily,  he  took  the  bundle  from  Colvin. 
He  was  hungry  and  wanted  to  close  the  shop  and  go 
home  to  supper,  but  a  job  was  a  job.  He  held  the 
suit  up  and  looked  it  over  with  searching,  practiced 
eyes,  sighed  again,  and  reluctantly  promised  to  have 
it  ready  within  the  hour. 

"  Awful  fine  goods,"  he  admitted,  "  but  pretty  near 
ten,  fifteen  years  behind  the  times.  Well,"  with  even 
deeper  reluctance,  "  I  have  them  ready  when  you  say." 

It  was  just  on  the  stroke  of  nine  when  Colvin  walked 
up  the  steps  to  the  Whitefield  door.  The  butler's  palm 
still  thrilled  pleasantly  to  Muriel's  honorarium ;  for 
he  presented  an  impassive  front  to  any  irregularities 
of  the  situation.  As  Colvin  stepped  past  him,  saying 
as  he  did  so  "  Mr.  Vernon,"  he  murmured  imperturb- 
ably : 

"  Miss  Fletcher  is  in  the  library,  sir." 


16  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

One  of  the  most  potent  of  all  mental  laws  is  the 
law  of  association.  The  moment  that  Ashe  Colvin 
passed  through  that  door,  he  was  again  in  the  world 
which  he  had  known  so  well,  and  from  which  he  had 
made  so  startling  an  exit.  This  was  his  natural  ele- 
ment. There  was  no  difficult  moment  of  adjust- 
ment. So  easily  did  he  slip  back,  that  it  was  the  life 
of  the  last  fifteen  years  with  its  profound  renuncia- 
tions, its  bitter  realizations,  which  suddenly  became  to 
him  as  the  mirage  on  his  horizon. 

The  admirable  butler  preceded  him  to  the  library 
door,  and  stood  aside  for  him  to  enter.  An  unneces- 
sary attention  in  this  case,  as  the  arrangement  of  the 
house,  its  geography,  and  general  scheme  of  decora- 
tion had  not  been  materially  altered. 

There  was  the  shadow  of  a  hard  smile  on  Colvin's 
lips,  as  he  reflected  that  it  was  not  the  first  time  he 
had  passed  through  that  hall  and  hastened  to  the 
library  to  meet  a  beautiful  woman. 

Had  time  stood  still?  The  same  clear  firelight 
burned  on  the  wide  hearth,  and  reflected  itself  in  the 
polished  surfaces  of  the  table  and  bookcases  of  carved, 
old  Welsh  oak.  A  somber,  handsome  room,  with  its 
faded  beautiful  rugs,  its  books,  its  atmosphere  of  re- 
pose. Yes;  everything  was  the  same,  even  to  that 
faint,  unforgettable  fragrance  of  fresh  roses,  but  — 
he  drew  a  quick  breath  of  relief  —  the  woman  was 
different. 

Muriel  was  leaning  —  lounging,  one  might  better 
say  —  against  the  mantelpiece,  her  eyes  fixed  eagerly 
upon  the  door.  She  wore  a  short,  white  dinner  frock, 
very  simple,  very  girlish,  and  particularly  unsuited  to 
her.  It  looked  as  if  some  one  else  had  chosen  it,  this 
sweet,  little  debutante  frock,  destined,  if  it  had  fulfilled 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  17 

its  mission,  to  subdue  and  eclipse  its  wearer;  but  the 
girl,  while  accepting  it,  had  countered  audaciously  and 
triumphantly,  as  Colvin,  who  had  intuitions  about 
women,  fancied  that  she  always  would. 

It  was  accomplished,  polished,  this  countering,  with 
a  naivete  which  silenced  criticism.  No  one  could 
object  to  a  young  girl  wearing  a  few  flowers.  And 
Muriel,  with  three  or  four  red  carnations  on  her 
breast,  and  two  in  the  dense,  auburn  hair  above  her 
ear,  achieved  one  of  those  studies  in  contrast  most 
intriguing  to  the  masculine  imagination. 

"  Oh,"  she  showed  the  edge  of  her  teeth  in  a  flash- 
ing smile,  "  you  did  have  the  nerve  to  follow  it  up  ? 
Well,  then,  I  shan't  need  this."  She  tossed  a  sealed 
envelope  into  the  fire.  "  My  confession."  Again  she 
smiled  audaciously.  "  I  had  it  all  prepared  to  slip  to 
you,  in  case  Uncle  William  and  Aunt  Freda  should 
change  their  minds  at  the  last  minute,  and  not  dine  out. 
•Won't  you  sit  there  ?  " 

She  indicated  a  chair  on  one  side  of  the  table,  and 
herself  took  another  on  the  opposite  side.  There  was 
a  bowl  of  full-blown,  saffron  roses  between  them.  He 
remembered  that  Freda  had  always  adored  yellow 
roses. 

"  You  can  imagine  how  anxious  I  am  to  have  the 
confession,"  he  said,  smiling,  too. 

She  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  had  a  sort  of  a  bet  with  myself  that  you  wouldn't 
come,  that  you  might  think  me  crazy ;  almost  any  one 
would,  wouldn't  he?  Or  else  seeking  some  sort  of 
notoriety."  She  grimaced  at  the  idea. 

"  You  certainly  took  your  chances  when  you  gave 
a  valuable  jewel  to  a  passer-by  whom  you  had  never 
seen  before." 


i8  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  put  it  to  the  touch  to  win  or  lose  it  all.  I  had 
reached  that  point  —  "  a  shadow  fell  over  her  rebellious 
face, — "  but  there  was  more  method  in  my  madness 
than  you  think."  She  gave  him  one  of  her  odd 
glances.  "  I  guess  I'll  plunge  right  into  my  story,  and 
it's  a  queer,  mixed-up  one,  I  warn  you." 

"  I  should  fancy  it  might  be,"  he  returned,  still 
studying  her. 

"  Mr. — "  she  began,  and  then  hesitated,  looking  at 
him  inquiringly. 

"  Vernon.  That's  not  my  real  name,  but  it's  the 
one  by  which  I  am  known  now,  and  which  I  gave  the 
man  at  the  door." 

There  was  a  little  sparkle  of  excitement  in  her  eyes. 

"Now  I  feel  as  if  I  were  really  beginning  to  live. 
To  know  a  man  who  isn't  called  by  his  real  name !  " 

He  laughed  outright.  He  had  had  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  various  types  of  debutante  in  his  day, 
among  them  the  kind  who  wished  to  appear  reckless 
and  sophisticated  and  daring,  but  this  girl  was  new ;  it 
didn't  seem  a  pose  with  her.  He  decided  that  she  was 
something  of  a  savage,  but  an  interesting  one. 

"  Why  does  an  assumed  name  strike  you  as  a  part  of 
living?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  so  different  from  anything  in  my  experience," 
she  answered  frankly.  "  It  belongs  to  a  sort  of  fas- 
cinating, adventurous  world  one  reads  about.  We  are 
the  strictest  sect  of  the  Pharisees." 

But  she  didn't  laugh  as  she  said  it.  Her  mouth 
twitched,  and  her  eyes  grew  sullen. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,  did  you  ever  hear  of  my  uncle,  Wil- 
liam Whitefield,  who  owns  this  house  ? "  she  asked 
abruptly. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  19 

William  Whitefield.  If  she  had  been  looking  at 
him,  she  would  have  seen  that  his  eyes  grew  a  shade 
more  alert,  while  his  face  set  and  hardened ;  but  there 
was  no  perceptible  change  in  his  tone. 

"  Yes.  Every  one  has  heard  of  him.  He's  rather  a 
unique  personality.  A  great  politician.  A  great  finan- 
cier. One  of  our  truly  successful  Americans."  There 
was  a  sudden  edge  on  his  voice. 

She  nodded. 

"  He's  all  that,"  she  said,  "  but  that  is  not  explaining 
my  action  of  this  afternoon,  although  dear  Uncle 
William  in  a  way  explains  it;  and  no  doubt  you're  as 
nervous  as  can  be,  sitting  alone  in  the  room  with  an 
able-bodied  lunatic."  She  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed. 

"  So  I'm  going  to  try  to  make  the  whole  thing  clear 
to  you,  although  it's  terribly  mixed  up.  You  see,  the 
story  of  my  life  begins  a  long  time  before  I  was  born." 

"  Most  of  us  could  say  the  same  thing,"  he  interpo- 
lated, laughing. 

"  Naturally.  Well,  if  you  know  of  my  uncle,  you've 
probably  heard  of  my  grandfather,  old  Amasa  White- 
field."  ' 

"  A  character  in  his  day,"  he  answered  readily ;  "  he 
piled  up  a  great  fortune." 

"  Yes.  He  intended,  I've  been  told,  to  divide  his 
money  equally  between  his  three  children,  my  uncle 
William,  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Warren  Hempstead,  and  my 
mother,  Mrs.  Fletcher;  but  before  he  died,  my  mother 
and  my  father  had  been  drowned  at  sea.  Aunt  Elea- 
nor Hempstead  had  also  died,  so  my  mother's  and  my 
aunt  Eleanor's  shares  of  my  grandfather's  estate  were 
left  in  trust  for  my  cousin,  Fletcher  Hempstead,  Aunt 
Eleanor's  son,  and  myself.  I  was  about  two  at  the 


20  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

time  of  my  grandfather's  death,  and  Fletcher  was 
fifteen. 

"  There !  "  She  paused  to  take  breath.  "  Have 
you  got  that  all  straight  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  he  smiled ;  "  I  have  an  indistinct  impres- 
sion of  having  heard  it  all  before." 

She  looked  at  him  with  that  subtle,  narrowed  gaze 
of  hers.  Her  face  was  impassive  as  an  Indian's,  but 
her  eyes  were  speculative. 

"  The  will,"  she  continued,  "  was  an  odd  one, 
largely,  I  fancy,  because  grandfather  detested  Fletcher's 
father,  Warren  Hempstead."  Her  quick  eye  caught 
the  smile  which  flitted  over  Colvin's  face.  "  A  bril- 
liant but  unscrupulous  and  dissipated  man,  and  grand- 
father feared  his  getting  some  control  over  his  son's 
inheritance. 

"  By  the  terms  of  the  will,  our  property,  Fletcher's 
and  mine,  was  to  remain  undivided  until  I  was  twenty- 
five.  By  that  time,  if  you  will  stop  to  calculate,  Flet- 
cher would  be  almost  forty.  In  the  meantime,  we 
were  to  receive  such  an  income  as  our  trustees,  Uncle 
William  Whitefield  and  Cousin  Samuel  Cruger, 
though  suitable,  and  we  were  to  be  educated  and  to  live 
after  the  manner  decided  upon  by  those  two." 

She  paused  to  give  one  of  those  short  laughs  of  hers. 
He  had  been  tremendously  interested  in  watching  her 
expression  while  she  was  speaking.  It  was  as  if  a  sur- 
face mockery  played  over  depths  of  bitter  and  sup- 
pressed resentment. 

"Delightful  arrangement,  don't  you  think?  Only 
unfortunate  thing  about  it  was  that  it  didn't  work  in 
Fletcher's  case,  at  least."  There  was  a  touch  of  pride 
and  admiration  in  her  voice. 

"  When  he  was  about  seventeen,  his  father  died, 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  21 

and  from  that  time  he  was  in  one  quarrel  after  another 
with  Uncle  William.  There  were  frightful  scenes 
between  them.  I  have  a  very  dim  remembrance  of 
Fletcher,  but  I  love  him  like  a  brother,  when  I  think  of 
the  dance  he  led  Uncle  William. 

"  Of  course,  dear  Uncle  William  could,  and  did  re- 
taliate. He  cut  Fletcher's  spending  money  down  to 
nothing,  and  humiliated  him  in  every  way  that  he 
could,  but  it  simply  didn't  work.  He's  tried  the  same 
thing  with  me  in  another  way,"  she  had  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head  and  was  smiling  with  vindictive 
and  feline  enjoyment,  "  but  I'm  giving  him  a  run  for 
his  money,  and  I've  got  plenty  of  wind  yet." 

Colvin  reflected  that  this  was  highly  probable. 

"  Then  Fletcher  did  something  —  oh,  quite  beyond 
everything  —  dreadfully  disgraceful,  and  disappeared. 
They  made  every  effort  to  find  him,  but  unsuccessfully, 
and  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  he  was  dead.  But 
during  the  last  year,  as  I  have  gathered  from  various 
significant  hints  that  Cousin  Samuel  has  from  time  to 
time  let  fall,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  has 
returned  from  wherever  he  went  and  is  now  here  in 
New  York." 

She  had  turned  while  speaking  and  leaned  her  arms 
upon  the  table  between  them.  His  eyes  were  on  the 
fire,  but  hers,  no  longer  shadowed  by  their  heavy  lids, 
were  on  his  contemplative  profile. 

"  Ever  hear  of  Cousin  Samuel  Cruger?  "  she  broke 
off  to  ask  most  casually. 

"  Tubby  ?  "  At  last  he  was  caught  off  guard.  "Oh, 
yes." 

She  gave  the  faintest  of  satisfied  nods  and  went  on 
before  he  noticed  his  slip. 

"  He'd  let  me  do  as  I  please,"  she  said,  "  but  Uncle 


22  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

William  rules  him  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Well.  From 
what  I  can  gather  from  Cousin  Sammy's  rather  fright- 
ened confidences,  Fletcher  has  been  seen  more  than 
once,  and  is  supposed  to  be  living  in  or  near  town." 

"  I  see,"  said  Colvin  in  a  sudden  enlightened  flash, 
turning  quickly  to  face  her.  "  You  have  been  looking 
for  him  yourself,  and  you  thought  that  I  might  be  he." 

"  No,"  she  said  slowly,  "  not  exactly  that.  I  did 
have  a  curious  feeling  when  I  saw  you  as  if  —  as  if," 
she  frowned.  "  Oh,  it  gives  me  a  sort  of  confused 
feeling  to  think  of  it,  but  as  if  I  had  known  you  some- 
where—  It's  something  about  my  childhood,  but  I 
can't  remember. 

"Of  course,  on  every  opportunity  I  got,  I've  looked 
for  Fletcher ;  but  barring  finding  him,  I  hoped  to  meet 
some  one  else  who  would  help  me  in  my  search." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  And  so  you  have  wandered  about  the  streets  ready 
to  give  jewels  into  the  keeping  of  any  strange  tramp !  " 

The  fantasy,  the  recklessness  of  the  thing  appalled 
him,  and  he  showed  it. 

"  It  sounds  like  Haroun  Al  Raschid,  or  Prince  Flori- 
zel  of  Bohemia." 

Her  face  darkened. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  angrily,  "  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  it 
sounds.  I  had  a  plan,  although  you  may  not  think  it. 
I  couldn't  employ  detectives.  I  haven't  enough  free- 
dom for  that.  I  had  to  be  my  own  detective.  And 
I  never  had  any  intention  of  giving  jewels  to  stray 
tramps. 

"  You  are  not  very  flattering  to  yourself,  Mr.  Ver- 
non.  I've  carried  that  purse  and  the  pendant  in  my 
muff  for  weeks  now.  But,"  and  here  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  struck  the  table  lightly  with  her  fingers,  as 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  23 

if  to  give  emphasis  to  her  words,  "  the  moment  I  saw 
you,  I  knew,  I  knew  positively  that  my  search  was 
over.  I  could  see  that  you,  like  Fletcher,  had  been 
born  a  gentleman  and  yet  —  and  yet  — " 

"  It  was  plain  also  that  apparently,  like  your  Cousin 
Fletcher,  I  too  was  down  and  out."  There  was  the 
zest  of  real  mirth,  the  first  that  had  rung  there  for 
years,  in  his  laughter.  The  bitterness  of  the  fact  had 
long  passed,  lost  in  that  vast  apathy  which  had  en- 
gulfed him. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  she  said  carelessly.  "  In  all  that 
crowd,  you  looked  as  if  you  didn't  belong,  but  had  just 
strayed  there." 

She  appeared  indifferent  to  his  feelings. 

"  You  seemed  to  have  come  from  that  big,  shadowy, 
submerged  world  which  lies  all  about  us,  and  of  which 
we  know  so  little.  And  I  knew  that  I  could  trust  you." 

A  flush  rose  on  his  cheek. 

"  Thank  you." 

There  was  sincere  feeling  in  his  voice.  "  That  is 
the  first  real  compliment  that  I  have  ever  received. 
But,"  he  added  curiously,  "  if  you  had  that  feeling 
about  knowing  me  long  ago,  why  were  you  not  equally 
sure  that  I  was  your  cousin  Fletcher  in  person  ?  You 
must  have  been  a  tiny  child  the  last  time  you  saw  him." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  carelessly,  "  I  would  most  certainly 
know  him.  When  he  was  about  ten  years  old,  he  had 
an  accident  which  left  a  deep  scar  on  his  face,  just 
here,"  she  ran  her  finger  from  her  right  eyelid  down- 
ward across  her  cheek. 

There  was  the  flicker  of  illumination  in  his  face. 
Almost  he  exclaimed  "  The  Hornet !  " 

He  looked  at  her  appalled  and  incredulous,  and  yet, 
after  the  first  shock,  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind. 


24  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Fletcher  Hempstead  and  "  The  Hornet "  almost  surely 
were  the  same. 

A  vision  of  this  cousin  she  sought  rose  before  him. 
Tall,  emaciated,  stooping,  with  his  quick,  lithe  move- 
ments not  devoid  of  grace.  His  haggard,  cynical, 
drug-haunted  face,  his  menacing,  bitter  personality,  his 
base  and  disillusioned  outlook,  his  corrosively  sarcastic 
wit.  And  that  slash  across  the  cheek,  biting  deep  into 
the  flesh,  and  running  diagonally  almost  to  the  mouth. 

Colvin's  memory  went  back  almost  two  years.  He 
remembered  a  night  dense  with  fog,  when  he  had 
found  "  The  Hornet "  pressed  close  to  the  wall  in  his 
doorway.  There  had  been  a  moment  or  so  of  conver- 
sation, when  Colvin,  with  a  thrill  of  surprise,  had  recog- 
nized the  other  man  as  of  his  class,  and  had  given  his 
unbidden  guest  the  freedom  of  his  rooms  until  the 
immediate  search  by  the  police  had  abated. 

Once  or  twice  after  that,  "  The  Hornet  "  had  drifted 
in  late  at  night  and  smoked  Colvin's  cigars  and  enter- 
tained him  with  his  mordant  philosophies,  his  acid  com- 
ments on  life.  And  Colvin  in  turn  had  spent  an  occa- 
sional evening  at  the  other's  flat. 

And  "  The  Hornet  "  was  the  girl's  —  this  girl's  next 
of  kin! 

He  shifted  in  his  chair  and  frowned. 

"  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  find  this  cousin  ?  "  he 
asked  abruptly. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  I've  learned  from 
Cousin  Samuel  that  Fletcher  and  I  together  could  take 
some  kind  of  legal  steps  and  perhaps  get  a  readjust- 
ment of  our  affairs.  The  circumstances  under  which  I 
live  make  it  almost  impossible  for  me  to  do  anything 
alone." 

She  leaned  nearer  him. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  25 

"  Mr.  Vernon,"  she  burst  out,  "  I  am  nineteen  years 
old,  and  I  am  treated  as  if  I  were  ten.  I'm  an  heiress 
with  no  money,  a  woman  with  neither  rights  nor 
privileges.  The  only  outlet  for  my  energies  at  present 
is  in  tormenting  Uncle  William  and  Aunt  Freda ;  espe- 
cially Aunt  Freda,  and  I  must  say  she's  a  foeman  wor- 
thy of  my  steel. 

"  Oh-h !  "  her  lips  drew  back  from  her  teeth,  her 
eyes  burned  with  a  green  fire  through  her  lashes. 
"  How  I  hate  my  Aunt  Freda !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  leap  of  answering  fire  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  looked  beyond  her  at  the  rows  of  books  behind 
her  head.  His  voice  was  almost  too  casual  as  he  said : 

"  She  is  considered  a  very  beautiful  woman,  is  she 
not?" 

"  Oh,  she  has  been  a  professional  beauty  for  years. 
And  she  is  very  sweet  and  terribly  good." 

The  ironic  bitterness  of  her  smile  was  reflected  in  his, 
a  thousand  times  intensified. 

"  I  know." 

"  You've  met  her?"  she  asked  quickly,  her  eyes 
again  alert  and  speculative. 

"  I  know  the  type,"  he  explained  suavely.  "  But 
there  are  surely  other  ways  that  an  heiress  of  nineteen 
might  gain  her  freedom." 

"  You  mean  marriage  ?  "  she  asked  immediately. 

She  pushed  a  box  of  cigarettes  on  the  table  toward 
him.  "  Will  you  smoke  ?  "  she  asked,  and  then  took 
one  herself. 

"  Thank  you,"  as  he  held  a  light  for  her;  "  I  do  this 
to  annoy  Aunt  Freda.  Of  course,  marriage  would  be 
an  escape  of  sorts  —  but  the  few  men  that  Aunt  Freda 
allows  me  to  see  anything  of  don't  appeal  to  me.  No. 
Marriage  isn't  in  my  scheme  yet."  She  shook  her  head 


26  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

decidedly.  "  I've  got  to  find  myself  before  I  find  a 
man." 

She  suddenly  sat  upright,  tense. 

"  Listen.  I  thought  I  heard  a  motor  stop  before  the 
door.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late."  She  darted  into 
the  hall,  and  returned  in  a  moment  with  his  hat  and 
coat. 

"  It  is  they,"  she  said.  "  That  door  leads  into  the 
dining-room,"  she  pointed  toward  the  end  of  the  room. 
"  There  are  French  windows  giving  on  a  porch,  with 
a  flight  of  steps  to  the  garden.  Oh,  hurry,  that  is  the 
door!" 

He  was  down  the  room  in  a  second. 

"  But  how  shall  I  communicate  with  you?  "  he  asked 
quickly,  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door. 

She  looked  at  him  in  consternation,  but  she  was  a 
young  woman  who  thought  rapidly,  and  was  not  likely 
to  lose  her  head. 

"  As  my  tailor,"  she  whispered.  "  M.  J.  Hodgeson. 
Go." 

The  sound  of  voices  —  voices  he  well  remembered  — 
was  growing  perilously  distinct.  He  stepped  through 
the  door  and  closed  it  softly  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

As  Colvin  closed  the  door  of  the  library  behind  him, 
he  was  relieved  to  find  a  dim  light  burning  in  the  dining- 
room. 

It  was  a  large,  stately  room,  lighted  during  the  day 
by  the  long  windows  of  which  Muriel  had  spoken.  He 
quickly  crossed  the  floor,  and  pressing  the  catch  of  one 
of  the  windows  opened  it,  only  to  find  that  his  way  was 
still  barred  by  heavy  iron  shutters.  These  in  turn 
were  secured  by  a  bolt,  which  he  slipped  back,  and  then, 
pushing  ajar  the  shutter,  he  stepped  cautiously  out 
upon  the  porch. 

It  was  so  dark  outside  that  before  going  farther  he 
waited  a  moment  for  his  eyes  to  become  accustomed  to 
the  gloom.  Then,  treading  warily,  he  crossed  the 
porch,  and  followed  the  short  flight  of  steps  down  to  a 
narrow,  graveled  path.  Hearing  no  stir,  except  the 
occasional  passing  of  a  vehicle  along  the  street,  he 
walked  on  until  he  came  to  a  gate  opening  into  Seventy- 
fifth  Street.  The  street  was  empty  so  far  as  he  could 
see,  but  he  did  not  draw  a  long  breath  until  he  turned 
into  Fifth  Avenue.  Then  he  stopped  under  a  lamp  to 
light  a  cigarette  and  look  at  his  watch.  It  was  after 
eleven. 

His  immediate  inclination  was  to  look  up  the  "  Hor- 
net." Not  by  any  means  to  inform  that  dangerous  and 
disastrous  person  that  he  had  discovered  his  probable 
identity,  or  to  tell  him  of  the  fact  that  his  young  cousin 


28  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

was  conducting  a  search  for  him  on  what  might  be 
considered  new  and  erratic  lines.  God  forbid !  Colvin 
had  never  uttered  a  more  devout  protest.  He  was 
merely  of  the  mind  very  thoroughly  to  investigate  this 
problem  which  had  been  forced  so  abruptly  upon  his 
attention. 

Once  or  twice  curiosity  had  led  him  to  accept  the 
"  Hornet's  "  invitation  to  spend  an  evening  with  him, 
innocuously  be  it  said,  at  the  latter's  flat,  over  on  the 
West  Side  above  Greenwich  Village. 

Ashe  meant  to  walk  home  anyhow,  and  he  decided,  if 
his  mood  still  held  by  the  time  he  had  reached  the 
streets  in  the  'teens,  to  turn  westward  and  look  in  upon 
his  chance  acquaintance.  He  had  no  fear  of  being  too 
late  a  caller;  the  "  Hornet,"  for  professional  and  per- 
sonal reasons,  was  rarely  at  home  before  midnight. 

And  midnight  —  Colvin  realized  as  he  entered  that 
exotic  zone  which  begins  at  Forty-ninth  Street  and  ends 
at  Forty-second  —  was  a  chameleon  word  up  here  in 
the  theater-restaurant  belt  —  a  glittering,  gaudy  cog- 
nomen, very  different  from  the  dim,  shrouded,  gray 
name  by  which  it  was  known  in  the  business  and  resi- 
dence districts.  The  playtime  of  the  tired  business  man 
and  his  silken,  painted,  perfumed  companion,  was  just 
beginning.  Faster  and  faster  spun  the  lacquered 
motors  through  the  great  circles  of  light  shed  upon  the 
asphalt  from  electric  globes.  Their  occupants  were 
well-groomed,  amiable,  hard-eyed  men,  and  women 
with  faces  tilted  upward  like  flowers  from  their  fur  and 
chiffon  wraps.  Their  mingled  laughter  trailed  through 
the  night.  The  theaters  were  just  out ;  the  restaurants 
beckoned. 

Colvin  tried  hard  to  retain  his  poise,  his  detached 
outlook.  He  had  thought  in  those  old,  dead,  brilliant 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  29 

days  of  his  that  the  world  moved  as  fast  as  it  possibly 
could  whizz  through  space.  But  that  whizz  was  a 
snail's  pace  compared  to  this  Twentieth  Century  clip. 
Of  old,  the  voice  of  the  city  had  uttered  its  perpet- 
ual, monotonous  admonition,  "  Step  lively!  "  but  to-day 
its  insistent,  iterated  murmur  is,  "  Speed  up!  Speed 
up!" 

It  confused  him  a  little,  all  this  cinematographic 
activity,  this  flare  and  blare  with  its  sprinkling  of 
cayenne;  but  it  continued  to  arouse  in  him  that  same 
tingling  excitement  which  he  had  known  ever  since  he 
had  met  Muriel  that  afternoon. 

However,  his  interest  was  soon  exhausted,  and  again 
his  mind  concentrated  itself  upon  the  problem.  He 
smiled  then  half-whimsically,  half-cynically  as  he 
admitted  —  for  Colvin  was  one  of  those  rare  persons 
who  are  honest  with  themselves  —  that  it  was  the  girl 
even  more  than  the  situation  that  was  puzzling  him. 
.Yet,  as  he  told  himself,  this  was  only  natural.  The 
concrete  is  ever  more  engrossing  than  the  abstract ;  the 
person,  than  the  condition. 

Take  his  situation,  for  instance.  He  hadn't  an  idea 
where  it  was  going  to  lead  him.  Into  difficulties  cer- 
tainly ;  thick  and  plenty.  Into  dangers,  probably  — 
well,  the  more  the  better. 

In  an  unexplainable  way,  Ashe  was  becoming  aware 
of  some  things  very  definitely;  and  these  assurances 
came  to  him  not  through  reasoning  and  deduction,  but 
through  those  far  more  infallible  guides,  feeling,  emo- 
tion, prescience.  He  knew  that  he  had  received  his  cue 
once  more  to  take  his  place  among  the  actors  on  life's 
stage,  and  without  stopping  to  analyze  the  conviction, 
he  returned  to  his  consideration  of  the  problem  —  and 
the  girl. 


30  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

He  was  still  of  the  mood  to  look  up  the  "  Hornet " ; 
but  after  finding  him,  what  then?  In  the  first  place, 
that  elusive  person  was  hardly  likely  to  have  left  un- 
claimed for  years  a  large  estate  and  a  constantly  accru- 
ing income,  unless  there  were  excellent  reasons  for  his 
doing  so.  Would  not  those  reasons  still  hold?  Not 
necessarily.  Owing  to  a  lapse  of  time,  or  for  any  one 
of  a  number  of  causes,  Fletcher  Hempstead  might  be 
quite  willing  to  join  forces  with  his  young  cousin. 

Colvin  shuddered.  Could  he,  dared  he  be  an  instru- 
ment in  bringing  these  two  together  ?  Imagine  her  — 
that  splendid,  willful,  rebellious  creature  —  coming 
under  the  sinister  influence  of  the  "  Hornet " ! 

He  wras  down  in  the  'teens  now,  and  he  turned  west- 
ward, traversing  three  of  the  long  blocks  of  a  cross 
street,  until  he  neared  the  old  square  where  the  Episco- 
pal Seminary  creates  its  own  atmosphere  of  repose  and 
meditation  —  an  oasis  of  ivied  walls  and  iron-railed 
green,  with  the  desert  of  shabby  gentility  stretching 
stark  about  it. 

He  stopped  before  a  dingy  flat  house,  looked  up  to 
make  sure  of  the  number,  and  mounting  the  stoop, 
peered  among  the  letter-boxes  in  the  vestibule,  until  he 
found  one  bearing  the  noncommittal  name  of  Johnson, 
and  then  rang  the  bell. 

The  front  door  clicked,  and  he  opened  it,  passed 
through  a  very  dimly  lighted  hall  and  up  a  single  flight 
of  steps,  and  so  arrived  at  the  "  Hornet's  "  flat. 

Again  he  rang,  and  this  time  the  door  was  opened  on 
a  cautious  chain-latch  by  a  woman  who  studied  him 
warily  through  the  aperture. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Johnson,"  Colvin  said  re- 
assuringly. She  was  either  the  "  Hornet's  "  wife,  or 
passed  as  such. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  31 

She  looked  at  him  dubiously.  "  Mr. —  ?  "  she  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Vernon,"  he  supplied. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  remember  now."  Her  face  cleared. 
"  Alf  ain't  here  yet;  but  I'm  expecting  him  any  minute. 
Come  right  in  and  wait." 

"  If  you  think  he  will  be  home  soon,  and  that  it  will 
not  inconvenience  you."  It  was  Colvin's  turn  to  hesi- 
tate now. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  she  urged  hospitably,  throwing  the  door 
back  for  him  to  pass.  "  Leave  your  things  on  the  hat- 
rack  there." 

She  waited  while  he  did  so,  and  then  preceded  him 
down  a  short  hall  and  into  the  living-room. 

"  Rest  yourself  in  a  chair,  Mr.  Vernon;  that  Morris 
over  there  is  a  comfortable  one.  Alf  he  always  eats  his 
supper  about  twelve,"  she  ran  on ;  "  and  I'm  getting  it 
ready  for  him  now.  You  see,  he's  a  pretty  poor 
sleeper.  That's  the  reason  he  walks  around  so  much  at 
night."  She  looked  at  him  as  she  said  this,  with  a  quick, 
sidewise  glance  in  which  an  appeal  for  him  to  believe 
her  was  mingled  with  a  furtive  fear  that  he  would  not. 

And  this  furtiveness  Ashe  found  pathetic.  It  af- 
fected him,  as  one  is  affected  and  saddened  by  the 
precocious  knowledge  of  evil  in  a  child.  It  was  so 
obviously  acquired  in  a  painful  school  of  experience. 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  opposite  him, 
determinedly  hospitable,  and  spoke  of  the  weather. 
Although  still  young —  in  the  early  thirties,  perhaps  — 
and  still  pretty,  she  was  distinctly  not  of  an  urban 
type.  No  department  store  lounger,  she;  no  untiring 
stalker  of  the  big  game  of  small  bargains.  She  had 
never  acquired  the  habit  of  gossiping  from  window  to 
window  across  a  court  two  feet  wide,  nor  with  arms 


32  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

comfortably  disposed  upon  the  cushioned  ledge,  gazing 
down  for  hours  upon  the  passing  world. 

She  was  a  typical  home  body,  the  rustic  intonations 
still  lingering  in  her  voice,  the  rustic  shyness  in  her 
eyes.  Excellent  assets  for  a  mate  of  the  "  Hornet," 
and  no  doubt  duly  valued  by  him. 

The  room,  too,  disarmed  suspicion  —  pleasant, 
homelike  and  expressing  a  shining  order.  The  win- 
dows were  crowded  with  blooming  plants,  but  what- 
ever fragrance  these  may  have  sent  forth  was  over- 
borne by  the  appetizing  odors  of  the  supper  in  course  of 
preparation. 

"  What  pretty  flowers  you  have,"  said  Colvin,  intui- 
tively choosing  the  subject  which  would  set  his  hostess 
most  thoroughly  at  ease.  This  ability  had  ever  been 
one  of  the  chief  secrets  of  his  charm.  "  Who  is  the 
winter  gardener ;  you,  or  Mr.  Johnson  ?  " 

"  Oh,  me."  Enthusiasm  brightened  her  face,  as  she 
turned  to  her  window  boxes.  "  I  don't  like  anything 
so  much  as  pottering  over  flowers,  and  they  do  so  well 
for  me,  too.  I  can  make  a  stick  grow." 

"  I  can  easily  believe  it.  Most  house  plants  are  a 
spindling  lot,  but  these  are  beautiful."  He  won  her 
heart  by  his  interest  and  admiration. 

Presently,  in  the  full  tide  of  the  life  history  of  a 
pelargonium,  she  started  sharply. 

"  My  land !  I'm  forgetting  my  Sally  Lunn.  You 
must  excuse  me;  I've  got  to  take  a  look  at  the  oven. 
Something's  burning  already.  My!  I  do  wonder 
what's  keeping  Alf."  She  left  him  to  his  meditations. 

Picking  up  a  newspaper  from  the  table,  Colvin  read 
a  paragraph  or  two,  and  then  laid  it  aside.  He  was 
more  interested  in  this  simple,  wistful  creature  with 
whom  he  had  been  talking.  Her  face  held  the  sweet- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  33 

ness  and  the  pathos  of  the  woman  who  loves  blindly, 
and  who  merely  accepts  whatever  her  lot  without  ques- 
tion. He  wondered  how  she  had  escaped,  if  indeed  it 
were  possible  for  her  to  escape,  the  poison  of  the 
"  Hornet's  "  personality,  and  then  in  a  moment  of  in- 
sight so  poignant  that  it  almost  brought  the  tears  to  his 
eyes,  he  realized  that  all  that  was  deadly  and  virulent  in 
this  companion  of  hers  was  transmuted  in  the  alembic 
of  her  maternal  love.  He,  the  "  Hornet,"  whose 
venomous  flights  she  could  not  follow,  who  cultivated 
the  will  to  wound  and  the  impulse  to  destroy,  had 
roused  in  this  humble,  bewildered  soul  a  passion  of  self- 
sacrifice  and  unquestioning  devotion,  which  was  for 
her  at  once  a  cruel  and  yet  supreme  intensification  of 
life. 

"  I'm  afraid  Alf's  been  detained."  Her  plaintive 
voice  sounded  from  the  doorway.  "  I've  kept  things 
so  long,  the  supper  ain't  fit  to  eat.  Say,  Mr.  Vernon,  I 
wish  you'd  let  me  give  you  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  just  a 
taste  of  something." 

Colvin  started,  impatient  with  himself  for  these 
habits  of  reverie  which  had  grown  upon  him  during  his 
years  of  isolation. 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  Not  so  late."  He  was  already 
half  way  to  the  door.  Then,  seeing  her  disappoint- 
ment, he  halted.  "  I  am  afraid,  I  can't  resist,  if  you 
will  let  me  drink  it  standing." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  started  again.  "  Oh, 
forgive  me."  His  voice  was  shocked.  "  I  had  no  idea 
of  the  time." 

But  she  had  vanished  to  return  quickly  with  a  tray 
temptingly  arranged  with  coffee,  buttered  toast,  and 
sandwiches. 

Colvin  found  them  delicious,  and  delighted  her  soul 


34  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

by  praising  them  unstintedly.     Then  he  made  his  de- 
parture, inwardly  fuming  at  himself. 

"  I've  acquired  all  the  stupid  habits  of  the  confirmed 
recluse/'  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  closed  the  hall  door 
of  the  flat  behind  him.  Then,  hearing  footsteps  on  the 
stairs,  he  waited  a  moment,  thinking  that  the  "  Hornet  " 
himself  might  be  coming.  But  instead,  it  was  a  mes- 
senger boy,  who  paused  at  the  head  of  the  flight,  and 
looked  about  him.  Colvin  noticed  that  he  carried  a 
flat,  square  package. 

"  That  Johnson's  flat  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 
door  before  which  Colvin  stood. 

Ashe  nodded,  and  went  on  down  the  stairs.  By  the 
time  he  reached  home,  he  was  desperately  weary.  For 
one  who  had  companioned  so  long  with  solitude,  this 
had  been  an  eventful  day,  to  put  it  mildly — a  day  of 
mental  awakening,  of  mental  acceptance,  elimination 
and  selection,  and  its  complement  in  the  physical  had 
been  a  day  of  happenings. 

He  had  been  literally  pitchforked  into  his  crowded 
hour,  and  tired  as  he  was  in  body  and  mind,  he  knew 
that  if  he  went  to  bed  it  would  not  be  to  sleep.  There- 
fore, with  the  idea  of  resting  a  few  moments  and  see- 
ing things  a  little  more  clearly  in  perspective,  he  threw 
himself  into  an  easy  chair. 

It  was  several  hours  later  when  he  sat  up  suddenly 
and  listened  incredulously  to  the  clock  striking  nine. 
Impossible !  He  got  up,  shook  his  shoulders,  stretched 
his  legs,  and  then  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the 
room.  He  felt  stiff  and  cramped  from  his  heavy 
sleep  in  an  uncomfortable  position;  so,  deciding  that 
it  was  too  late  or  too  early  to  go  to  bed,  he  prepared 
to  draw  his  bath  and  dress  for  the  day. 

But  before  he  could  do  this,  his  landlady's  daugh- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  35 

ter,  a  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  brought  up  his  break- 
fast. She  returned  his  "  Good  morning,  Elsa,"  with 
her  usual  broad  smile  on  her  broad  pink  and  white  face, 
and  then  her  round,  blue  eyes  widened.  Even  her 
shining,  flaxen  pigtails  seemed  to  curl  upward  in  sur- 
prise. He  realized  with  amusement  that  it  was  his 
evening  clothes,  the  whole  full-dress  effect  of  him  at 
his  breakfast  hour,  which  had  caused  her  astonish- 
ment. Then,  mindful  of  her  manners,  she  set  the  tray 
on  the  table,  and  laid  beside  it  a  neatly  folded  news- 
paper. 

"  Coffee,  cream,  sugar,  grapefruit,  eggs,  rolls,  butter, 
pepper  and  salt,  forks,  spoons,  knives,  napkin,"  she 
enumerated  slowly.  "  I  haven't  forgotten  anything." 

"  You  never  do,"  he  smiled. 

She  blushed  with  pleasure,  and  then  closed  the  door 
behind  her  with  her  usual  careful  precision. 

Colvin  picked  up  the  paper,  and  glanced  at  the  head- 
lines. Then  his  grip  upon  it  tightened.  His  attitude, 
his  expression,  showed  the  most  concentrated  atten- 
tion, while  he  read  the  story  which  had  been  considered 
of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  double-column 
headlines  on  the  front  page : 

WILLIAM  WHITEFIELD  ROBBED 

Sensational  Burglary  and  Murder  at  the  Home  of  the 

Fifth  Avenue   Millionaire  Politician 

Safe  Looted  of  Valuable  Jewels  and  Papers,  and  a 

Policeman  Shot  in  a  Desperate  Encounter 

with  the  Escaping  Thieves. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MECHANICALLY  Colvin  poured  his  coffee  out  into 
the  cup,  but  the  steam  of  it  rose  unheeded  while  his 
eyes  remained  glued  to  the  printed  columns  before 
him. 

"  A  fusillade  of  revolver  shots  and  a  scurry  of  re- 
treating footsteps,"  so  ran  the  story,  "  created  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  exclusive  district  along  upper  Fifth  Avenue 
last  night  about  midnight. 

"  The  disturbance  came  from  the  home  of  William 
Whitefield,  the  traction  magnate  and  former  member 
of  the  Republican  National  Committee  at  4  East  Sev- 
enty-Sixth Street,  and  when  Patrolman  Frank  Chivers 
and  Bernard  Myer  of  the  Central  Park  Squad  arrived 
on  the  scene,  they  were  met  by  the  panic-stricken 
household,  and  found  one  of  the  French  windows 
opening  into  the  dining-room  from  a  porch  at  the  side 
of  the  house  standing  open,  while  at  the  foot  of  a  short 
flight  of  steps  running  down  from  this  porch  lay 
Patrolman  Charles  McNamara,  still  breathing,  but  un- 
conscious and  mortally  wounded  from  a  shot  in  the 
right  temple. 

"  Chivers  and  Myer  hurriedly  summoned  assistance 
from  the  Arsenal  Police  Station,  and  had  McNamara 
removed  to  the  Presbyterian  Hospital,  where  he  died 
about  an  hour  later  without  recovering  consciousness, 
or  making  a  statement  of  any  kind. 

"  From  the  conditions  at  the  house,  however,  it  was 
not  difficult  to  reconstruct  what  had  taken  place. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  37 

Shortly  after  the  family  had  retired  for  the  night,  a 
burglar  or  party  of  burglars  entered  by  way  of  the 
dining-room  window,  and  then  proceeding  to  Mr. 
Whitefield's  study,  forced  his  private  safe,  and  re- 
moved the  greater  part  of  its  contents.  Escaping  then 
with  their  booty,  they  left  by  the  same  way  they 
came,  but  were  evidently  halted  in  the  garden  by 
McNamara,  who,  it  is  supposed,  either  saw  them  as 
they  were  making  their  exit,  or  else  had  his  suspicions 
aroused  by  finding  the  gateway  open  into  Seventy- 
fifth  Street  and  had  gone  in  to  investigate. 

"  An  exchange  of  shots  must  have  taken  place,  for 
the  dying  officer's  revolver  was  found  clutched  in  his 
hand,  and  three  of  the  cartridges  in  it  were  exploded, 
but  it  is  not  believed  that  any  of  his  bullets  took  effect. 
At  any  rate,  the  cracksmen  got  safely  away  with  their 
haul. 

"  This,  it  was  rumored  at  first,  included  Mrs.  White- 
field's  famous  collection  of  sapphires  and  pearls,  which 
were  doubtless  the  bait  that  led  to  the  daring  burglary ; 
but  it  was  later  denied  by  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White- 
field  that  these  jewels  had  either  been  in  the  safe,  or 
were  missing. 

"  The  actual  loss,  as  inventoried  by  Mr.  Whitefield 
for  the  authorities,  consisted  of  about  $600  in  money, 
some  rings,  brooches,  and  unset  stones,  totalling  a 
value  of  between  six  and  seven  thousand  dollars,  and 
a  package  of  private  papers. 

"  The  disappearance  of  these  papers  seemed  to  be 
what  chiefly  concerned  the  traction  man,  and  he 
showed  the  utmost  perturbation  on  discovering  their 
loss.  Later,  however,  in  discussing  the  matter  with 
the  reporters  he  attempted  to  minimize  the  importance 
of  the  missing  documents,  although  declining  to 
give  any  information  as  to  their  character  or  con- 
tents. 

"  *  They  were  of  no  possible  value  to  any  one  but 


38  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

myself,'  he  said  testily.  '  And  I  cannot  understand 
the  object  of  the  thieves  in  taking  them.' 

"  Nevertheless,  it  is  significant  that  he  should  have 
caused  an  advertisement  to  be  inserted  in  all  the  city 
newspapers  offering  a  reward  of  $5,000  for  the  re- 
turn of  the  package,  and  '  no  questions  asked.'  And 
this  deep  anxiety  for  the  recovery  of  the  papers  leads 
to  the  suspicion  in  some  quarters  that  they  were  con- 
cerned with  important  traction  matters  —  either  deals 
in  prospect,  or  transactions  already  closed,  which  in 
view  of  recent  legislative  activity  Mr.  Whitefield  has 
no  desire  to  see  in  other  hands  than  his  own. 

"  Reverting,  though,  to  the  details  of  the  crime  it- 
self, there  is  still  no  definite  clue  to  the  identity  of  its 
perpetrators. 

"  The  police  were  at  first  strongly  inclined  to  an  *  in- 
side job '  theory,  arguing  that  the  burglars  must  have 
been  assisted  by  some  member  of  the  household  from 
the  fact  that  the  iron  shutters  to  the  dining-room  win- 
dow were  found  unlatched,  and  showed  no  signs  of 
having  been  tampered  with,  and  also  from  certain  dis- 
crepancies in  the  story  of  the  butler.  But  both  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Whitefield  are  loth  to  accept  the  sugges- 
tion. 

"  They  insist  that  the  entire  staff  of  their  household 
is  above  suspicion,  and  offer  as  an  explanation  for 
the  unlatched  window  that  one  of  the  robbers  might 
possibly  have  entered  the  house  during  the  day  or  even 
after  dinner,  and  have  secreted  himself  until  the  fam- 
ily had  gone  to  bed,  when  he  admitted  his  confed- 
erates. 

"  The  actual  work  upon  the  safe  seems  to  offer  a 
better  lead;  for  here  the  detectives  are  agreed  that 
expert  ability  of  a  high  order  was  displayed,  and  they 
claim  to  recognize  in  it  the  handicraft  of  a  cracksman 
long  suspected  by  the  department,  but  who  has  hitherto 
always  managed  to  elude  arrest. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  39 

"  Orders  were  issued  last  night  for  the  rounding  up 
of  this  man,  and  the  police  expect  to  have  him  in 
custody  within  a  few  hours." 

Colvin  laid  down  the  paper,  and  stared  straight  be- 
fore him,  gnawing  his  lower  lip.  The  color  had  not 
returned  to  his  face.  Again  he  abstractedly  lifted  the 
coffee-pot,  and  poured  out  its  contents,  until  his  cup 
overflowed  into  the  saucer  before  he  noticed  it.  There 
was  an  odd  smile  on  his  lips. 

His  mind  leaped  to  a  question.  He  could  not  help 
wondering,  if,  when  the  butler  had  been  subjected  to 
examination,  he  had  mentioned  the  fact  that  an  un- 
known man  had  called  at  the  Whitefield  house  at  nine 
o'clock  on  the  evening  before  —  a  man  who  gave  his 
name  as  Vernon,  and  who  asked  for  Miss  Fletcher, 
and  for  whom  he,  Dempsey,  had  not  opened  the  door 
upon  his  departure. 

Colvin  frowned  and  twisted  his  mouth.  There  was 
no  evading  the  conclusion  that,  if  the  girl  and  the 
butler  told  all  they  knew,  he  was  certain  to  fall  under 
suspicion.  Fortunately,  or  at  least  he  hoped  so,  the 
butler  did  not  know  as  much  as  the  girl,  and  it  might 
be  that  his  own  interest  and  Muriel's  bribe  had  nerved 
Dempsey  to  evade  the  searching  questions  put  to  him. 
And  Ashe  could  not  imagine  the  girl  telling  the  police 
that  her  visitor  had  left  the  house  through  the  dining- 
room  window.  No,  he  smiled  confidently;  there  was 
one  thing  of  which  he  was  sure,  and  that  was,  that  they 
would  never  get  any  of  the  facts  of  that  evening  from 
Muriel  unless  it  suited  her  purpose  to  tell,  and  he  was 
ready  to  stake  his  faith  on  her  silence. 

An  odd  coincidence  —  this  robbery  —  if  indeed  it 
were  a  coincidence.  Of  course  it  was  possible  that  he 


40  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

might  have  been  seen  leaving  the  house  by  some  one 
who  realized  the  opportunity  of  those  unlocked  iron 
shutters  and  grasped  it.  But,  no  matter  how  he  studied 
this  or  that  phase  of  the  affair,  the  undercurrent  of  his 
thought  was  always  the  girl.  It  was  years  since  his 
curiosity  had  been  so  piqued,  his  interest  so  fully 
aroused  as  it  had  been  by  Muriel  Fletcher's  unusual 
individuality. 

Yet  there  was  a  factor  in  the  case  which  kept  the 
thought  of  Muriel  merely  an  undercurrent.  His  dom- 
inating consideration  was  that  package  of  stolen  papers, 
vaguely  referred  to  as  relating  to  a  traction  deal.  The 
very  mention  of  them  roused  in  him  a  wild  hope, 
something  he  did  not  dare  regard  as  a  possibility; 
and  yet  his  mind  clung  to  it  with  a  thousand  tentacles, 
and  in  spite  of  himself  his  spirit  soared. 

Long,  long  ago  he  had  abandoned  his  dreams  of  an 
inevitable,  if  postponed,  justice  which  should  include  a 
full  restitution.  In  the  days  when  his  downfall  —  his 
death,  as  he  always  mentally  referred  to  it  —  impended, 
he  had  done  everything  not  only  to  avert  the  ruin  which 
threatened  him,  but  to  nullify  its  results  when  the  ava- 
lanche of  full  publicity  came. 

In  his  endeavor  to  enlist  powerful  influences,  he  had 
consulted  lawyers  who  were  not  only  personal  friends, 
but  men  eminent  in  their  profession;  and  for  the  first 
time  this  darling  of  fortune  read  incredulity  not  un- 
mixed with  scorn  in  their  eyes.  He  who  had  met  only 
smiles  and  eager  welcome  encountered  that  same  un- 
familiar expression  in  the  eyes  of  every  friend  and 
acquaintance  he  had  on  earth.  He  had  resolved  to 
carry  off  the  thing  high-handedly,  with  all  of  the  in- 
souciance, the  savoir  faire  with  which  he  was  credited ; 
to  give  it  the  light  indifference  with  which  one  treats 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  41 

a  matter  of  no  importance.     But  the  world's  opinion 
was  too  well  defined  for  this. 

He  was  noticeably  avoided  in  all  of  his  old  haunts. 
Men  who  were  indebted  to  him  for  a  hundred  favors 
were  too  much  occupied  to  see  him  at  his  clubs,  in  the 
restaurants,  on  the  street.  Women  —  Ah,  women !  - 
who  had  felt  their  personal  prestige  immeasurably  ad- 
vanced if  they  were  seen  with  him,  now  looked  sedu- 
lously in  another  direction.  His  mail  which  had  daily 
numbered  so  many  invitations  that  he  never  bothered 
to  count  them,  dwindled  to  a  few  bills  and  business 
communications.  Hostesses,  whose  invitations  he  had 
already  accepted,  suffered  from  sudden  maladies  and 
enjoyed  equally  speedy  recoveries. 

"  But,  great  heavens ! "  he  said  to  the  lawyer  to 
whom  he  finally  turned.  "  I'm  pilloried  as  if  I  were 
a  criminal,  and  I'm  a  public  benefactor.  Although  I 
have  been  politically  opposed  to  Whitefield,  and  have 
represented  interests  inimical  to  him  and  all  his  crooked 
affairs,  still  I  discovered  this  gigantic  steal  by  a  mere 
fluke  —  this  rotten  merger  they  have  put  through. 
They've  made  millions  out  of  it  —  millions !  —  the 
public  has  been  swindled  and  robbed  past  belief,  and  — 
I'm  the  goat." 

There  was  something  in  the  ring  of  his  voice,  a  pas- 
sionate sincerity,  a  desperate  protestation  which  made 
Judge  Gregory  turn  and  look  at  him  steadily.  The 
scrutiny  of  those  cold  eyes  gradually  softened,  there 
was  the  shadow  of  something  like  sympathy  on  the 
ascetic,  intellectual  face. 

"  Colvin,"  he  said  slowly,  "  you're  not  the  sort  of 
a  man  to  be  the  goat,  unless  you're  considerably  more 
of  a  fool  than  I  or  any  one  else  has  ever  thought  you. 
That's  the  gist  of  the  whole  matter.  That's  the  reason 


42  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

public  opinion,  even  among  your  closest  friends,  stands 
as  it  does  toward  you.  It's  the  things  you  can't  —  or 
won't  —  explain,  the  —  er  —  rather  noticeable  dis- 
crepancies —  " 

He  took  off  his  eyeglasses  and  wiped  them  with 
meticulous  care.  Colvin's  face  had  flushed,  his  lips 
tightened. 

"  You,"  went  on  the  lawyer  in  his  even,  judicial 
tones,  "you  permitted  —  well,  more  than  a  hint  of 
this  information  you  claim  to  possess,  to  leak  out. 
You  allowed  the  newspapers  to  make  certain  insinua- 
tions. And  then,  when  they  had  the  public  sufficiently 
excited,  and  were  prepared  to  spring  a  big  sensation, 
you  refused  the  definite  proofs  of  your  various  allega- 
tions—  refused  them,  and  in  spite  of  the  influence 
which  the  united  press  brought  to  bear  upon  you,  you 
have  simply  maintained  silence."  His  voice  dropped 
coldly,  and  as  it  seemed  to  the  man  who  listened,  from 
an  immense  distance.  "  An  inexplicable  silence !  " 

"  What  else  is  there  to  do  ?  "  cried  Colvin  hotly. 
"  Public  records  have  mysteriously  disappeared,  papers 
have  been  stolen  from  my  desk,  witnesses  have  either 
vanished  or  denied  their  previous  sworn  testimony.  I 
am  in  a  most  devilish  and  unbelievable  mesh.  How 
could  I  have  foreseen  it  ?  I  can't  yelp  now.  Nobody 
will  believe  me.  As  for  the  insinuations  in  the  news- 
papers, they  never  came  from  me;  they  leaked  out 
through  associates  who  were  keen  enough  on  the  chase 
when  it  looked  as  though  we  had  unearthed  this  stu- 
pendous fraud,  and  then  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  it 
when  the  bribe  was  high  enough." 

He  spoke  vehemently,  and  yet  there  was  something 
lacking  of  the  sincerity  of  his  previous  words;  and 
Gregory  was  not  insensible  to  it. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  43 

"  Leaders  are  invariably  blamed  for  the  blunders  of 
their  subordinates,"  the  Judge  said  drily.  "  Events, 
like  persons,  are  judged  on  appearances  in  a  world 
which  has  no  time  to  sift  and  weigh  evidence.  And 
then,"  he  spoke  more  slowly  now,  and  even  more  coldly, 
"  your  willingness  to  expose  the  Whitefield  crowd, 
when  you  had  appeared  rather  conspicuously  for  the 
past  year  as  the  Whitefield  ami  dit  maison  —  -  Well  — 
That  complicates  the  matter  considerably.  Many  men 
who  would  have  paid  small  attention  to  the  business 
and  political  fight  in  itself,  can't  overlook  the  —  I'm 
sorry,  Ashe  —  the  caddishness  of  it.  The  universal 
comment  is :  He  was  crazy  about  her,  and  when  White- 
field  shut  down  on  the  affair,  Colvin  attempted  a  dirty 
public  revenge  and  couldn't  get  away  with  it." 

"Yes;  I  know,"  as  Ashe  wheeled  violently  in  his 
chair.  "  Brutal.  But  that's  the  world,  and  that  is 
the  real  reason  your  warmest  friends  feel  that  you 
deserve  ail  that's  coming  to  you.  You've  made  your- 
self in  the  public  eye  something  worse  than  a  criminal 
—  a  ridiculous  figure." 

Colvin's  face  was  gray  as  he  stared  at  the  sheet  of 
window  before  him.  Judge  Gregory's  untempered 
statements  of  fact  had  fallen  about  him  like  hailstones. 
He  realized  dully  and  in  a  surprised  sort  of  way  that 
words  were  things.  He  felt  their  impact,  cold  as  ice, 
and  yet  stinging  like  acid,  searing  his  flesh,  burning 
their  way  into  his  very  soul. 

Gregory  fussed  among  his  papers  for  a  moment. 
"You  are  very  young,"  there  was  a  hint. of  emotion 
in  his  voice,  "  and  you  have  had  enough  notice  to  turn 
any  man's  head.  You  have  unusual  gifts;  a  great 
career  was  before  you.  I  honestly  believe  that  the 
information  given  out,  as  you  say,  by  your  associates 


44  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

to  the  newspapers  was  neither  an  hallucination  on  your 
part,  nor  a  bruiting  of  mere  unfounded  rumors  and  sus- 
picion in  the  effort  to  create  a  sensation.  I  believe 
that  you  had  definite  proofs  to  back  up  your  charges 
and  allegations.  But  my  personal  conviction  of  course 
counts  for  nothing." 

He  leaned  his  arms  on  the  desk,  and  looked  stead- 
ily at  Colvin,  speaking  with  an  almost  solemn  em- 
phasis. * 

"  It's  not  too  late  yet,  Ashe.  The  public  is  still 
willing  to  let  you  prove  that  you  are  neither  a  knave 
nor  a  fool.  But  you  can't  let  the  matter  rest  where  it 
stands,  as  you  seem  bent  on  doing ;  you  can't,  and  avoid 
the  consequences.  Your  excuse  that  your  witnesses 
were  bought  up,  that  records  were  destroyed,  and  that 
important  papers  were  stolen,  is  palpably  weak.  You 
are  too  clever,  too  astute  not  to  have  reckoned  on  all 
those  accidents  in  advance,  and  to  have  known  that 
your  case  was  unassailable  before  you  placed  it  at  the 
mercy  of  even  the  closest  of  your  associates.  You 
claim  that  the  proofs  upon  which  you  especially  relied 
were  locked  up  in  your  apartment,  and  that  your  desk 
was  robbed.  But  you  have  made  only  the  most  per- 
functory effort  to  investigate  that  robbery.  What 
stopped  you ?  What  was  your  motive?  " 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  Colvin  did  not  answer. 
"  Only  one,  I  am  convinced,"  he  went  on.  "  A  wo- 
man. Well,"  sighing,  "  we  live  by  our  traditions,  and 
principally  we  die  by  them.  You  are  not  the  first 
man  of  brains  who  has  seen  his  career  wrecked,  his 
usefulness  nullified,  his  life  ruined  by  giving  all  to 
protect  what  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  is  not  worth 
protecting,  and  that  is  the  very  hypothetical  white 
flower  of  a  woman's  honor.  Any  woman  who  is  con- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  45 

scions  of  an  honor  to  protect  is  quite  competent  to 
guard  it  herself." 

A  brief  silence  fell  between  them,  and  when  the 
judge  spoke  again,  the  vigor  had  gone  out  of  his 
voice.  There  was  the  tired  drag  of  age  in  it. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  imaginative,  although  I  can  hardly 
accuse  myself  of  that,"  there  was  a  bleak  smile  around 
his  lips.  "But,  Ashe,"  his  hand  wavered  toward  the 
bowed  head  of  the  younger  man,  "  don't  let  the  tra- 
dition fall  on  you,  and  grind  you  to  powder  as  it 
will.  Don't  belittle  your  usefulness.  Don't  give  up 
everything  for  a  quixotic  whim.  Don't  let  the  idiotic 
ideal  of  a  false  chivalry  break  you.  You  are  a  big 
man,  Ashe.  Life's  been  too  easy  for  you.  You 
haven't  yet  been  taken  as  seriously  as  you're  entitled 
to  be.  You've  posed  around  the  town  too  much  as  a 
Beau  Brummel.  But  all  that  would  soon  fall  away 
from  you.  And  this  country  needs  men  of  your  pow- 
ers. For  God's  sake,  don't  quit  the  game,  because  of 
a  mere  sentimental  episode  of  your  boyhood." 

Colvin  got  up,  and  walked  to  the  window.  The 
sun  shimmered  on  its  surface;  but  even  had  the  pane 
been  clear,  he  would  not  have  seen  the  bay  crowded 
with  shipping,  nor  the  sky-climbing  buildings,  each 
striving  to  top  the  other.  His  eyes  were  turned  in- 
ward, and  the  pictures  of  what  Gregory  had  called  a 
sentimental  episode  rose  upon  his  mental  vision,  while 
his  brain  dispassionately  reviewed  them. 

Months  before  he  had  stumbled  on  this  steal,  he 
had  been  attracted  to  Freda  Whitefield.  She  had  en- 
listed his  interest  in  the  first  place  by  her  beauty,  and 
there  had  ensued  one  of  those  intimate,  platonic  friend- 
ships —  sentiment  raised  to  its  nth  power,  hovering 
thrillingly  on  the  verge  of  passion,  but  not  yet  drawn 


46  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

into  the  vortex.  The  old,  eternal  drama  of  the  beau- 
tiful woman  unequally  yoked,  and  the  sympathetic 
young  man.  It  progresses  through  inevitable  stages : 
her  favorite  flower  is  sent  her  daily ;  they  discover  a 
strangely  mutual  taste  in  poetry;  her  spiritual  ideals 
are  timidly  disclosed  to  him,  and  he  accepts  the  reve- 
lation with  an  almost  ecstatic  reverence;  she  will  be 
at  this  dinner  or  dance;  they  meet  with  handclasps, 
ardent,  clinging,  yet  quickly  withdrawn;  there  are 
long,  long  glances,  and  hastily  averted  eyes.  It  is  a 
game  played  without  variation  from  Timbuctoo  to 
Kamschatka. 

The  affair  had  reached  the  stage  where  a  divorce 
from  Whitefield  was  seriously  contemplated,  when 
Colvin  made  his  discovery  of  the  traction  scandal. 
For  weeks  he  lived  through  the  struggle  which  comes 
at  least  once  to  every  son  of  Adam  —  that  of  choosing 
between  duty  and  the  woman  —  and  the  choice  was 
not  an  easy  one.  He  loved  her  madly,  but  the  steal 
was  too  vast,  too  flagrant.  A  great  city  had  been 
greatly  robbed,  and  the  bandits,  secure  in  success, 
were  now  planning  other  depredations  upon  an  even 
larger  scale. 

Finally,  at  the  height  of  his  mental  conflict,  he  laid 
the  whole  thing  before  Freda;  and  she,  her  civic  virtue 
aroused,  had  strengthened  his  wavering  purpose.  As 
for  her,  she  would  not  remain  under  the  roof  nor  eat 
the  bread  of  a  man  who  had  mercilessly  and  in  cold 
blood  ruined  thousands. 

Incited  by  her  spirit,  upheld  by  her  faith  in  him, 
Colvin  prepared  to  force  the  issue.  Then,  on  the  eve 
of  public  disclosure,  there  had  occurred  the  time-hon- 
ored midnight  visit  from  her.  Even  her  unconven- 
tionality  was  conventional. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  47 

He  had  come  to  his  rooms  late,  and  found  her  there. 
She  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  lay  sobbing.  Her 
husband  had  accused;  she  had  admitted.  The  ulti- 
matum was  that  if  Ashe  gave  over  to  the  authorities 
the  information  in  his  possession  and  at  which  the 
newspapers  were  hinting,  Whitefield  would  imme- 
diately sue  her  for  divorce,  and  name  Colvin  as  co- 
respondent. 

He  had  his  evidence;  it  was  sufficient.  But  if 
Colvin  were  willing  to  drop  the  traction  investigation, 
he  would  condone.  He  could  consider  no  other  terms. 

Freda  clung  to  Ashe,  wrapped  her  arms  about  him, 
weepingly  besought  him  to  save  her;  and  he  soothed 
her,  promising  delay  for  the  present,  at  least,  or  until 
they  could  decide  what  had  best  be  done. 

It  was  not  until  she  left  that  he  noticed  a  certain 
disorder  in  the  room.  He  strode  over  to  his  desk; 
the  lock  was  broken,  the  contents  of  the  desk  were  in 
confusion.  His  most  important  proofs  were  gone. 
When  he  was  at  last  able  to  think,  and  had  somewhat 
recovered  his  reasoning  powers,  he  called  up  Freda 
on  the  telephone.  She  had  noticed  nothing  amiss  in 
the  room,  she  averred ;  was  in  no  condition,  indeed,  to 
do  so.  She  regretted  the  loss  of  his  private  papers, 
but  was  surprised,  nay,  more,  wounded,  that  he  should 
question  her  in  regard  to  them. 

And  not  long  after  this  the  society  reporters  began 
to  make  enthusiastic  mention  of  the  sapphires  and 
pearls  which  were  dimming  the  glory  of  all  the  other 
jewels  worn  at  the  opera  that  winter  —  Delilah's 
price ! 

At  last  Colvin  turned  from  the  shimmering  window 
and  from  his  unwilling  mental  review. 

"  Thank  you,  Judge,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  faint 


48  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

smile  upon  his  lips.  "  In  a  choice  between  a  quitter 
and  a  cad,  wouldn't  you  rather  be  a  quitter?" 

"  I  refuse  to  admit  that  it  is  a  choice,"  Gregory 
protested  hardly.  Then  his  stubbornness  broke. 
"  Oh,  I  know  the  fallacy  of  my  own  arguments.  I 
know  that  at  this  stage  of  our  evolution  a  man  can't 
involve  a  woman,  much  as  she  deserves  it,  without 
making  things  worse  for  himself.  But  what  then  are 
you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Clear  out,"  Colvin  responded  laconically.  He 
was  tensely  erect,  his  head  thrown  back,  that  embit- 
tered, proud  smile  was  still  on  his  lips. 

"Not  that.  Oh,  no,"  pleaded  Judge  Gregory  as  if 
to  a  son  of  his  own.  "  Don't  throw  away  half  a 
loaf,  because  you  can't  have  the  whole.  Hang  on  to 
every  crust." 

Colvin's  whole  figure  suddenly  crumpled;  his  face 
broke  up;  there  were  hot  tears  in  his  eyes;  his  shoul- 
ders heaved.  His  guard  was  down  at  last.  To  this 
old  man  who  loved  him,  he  showed  himself  a  heart- 
broken, bewildered  boy,  crushed  in  spirit,  in  pride,  in 
self-confidence. 

"  They've  got  a  complete  frame-up,  and  they'll  use 
it,  too.  They  know  I  won't  come  back  at  them,"  he 
choked.  "  They've  blinded  my  eyes,  and  shorn  my 
hair,  Judge,  and  there's  nothing  for  me  but  the  tread- 
mill." 

"  Then,  for  God's  sake,  pull  the  temple  down  about 
their  ears,  no  matter  what  means  you  use,"  cried  the 
old  man.  His  eyes,  too,  were  wet,  and  he  dabbed  at 
them  furiously  with  his  handkerchief. 

Colvin  roused  himself  impatiently.  Here  he  sat 
with  his  breakfast  growing  cold  before  him,  reliving 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  49 

again  a  long  dead  past.  Why  was  he  thinking  of  all 
that?  Judge  Gregory  had  died  almost  ten  years  ago. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done  now  upon  his  own  return 
to  life  was  to  put  from  him  definitely  this  habit  of 
reverie. 

And  yet  his  mind  clung  with  a  strange  pertinacity 
to  that  midnight  hour  when  he  had  turned  to  his  rifled 
desk,  and  sorting  over  its  contents  with  trembling 
hands,  had  become  damnably  conscious  of  the  delicate 
perfume  which  exhaled  from  its  tossed  papers  — 
Freda's  favorite  violet. 

Could  it  be  —  Was  it  possible  ?  —  that  the  package 
stolen  from  Whitefield's  safe  the  night  before,  and  for 
which  the  traction  man  was  so  eagerly  advertising, 
contained  the  proofs  whose  loss  had  shipwrecked  his 
career  ? 

Did  chance,  fortune,  fate  ever  deal  the  cards  like 
that?  Was  the  spinning  ball  to  drop  red  for  him  at 
last  after  all  these  years  of  black?  A  vain,  wild  hope, 
his  reason  told  him;  and  yet  he  found  himself  thrilled 
and  excited  at  the  possibility. 

Pushing  aside  his  untasted  breakfast,  he  caught  up 
the  newspaper  again,  and  read  with  sedulous  care 
every  detail  of  the  previous  night's  robbery. 

The  suggestion  that  he  himself  might  fall  under 
suspicion  through  some  admission  on  the  part  of  the 
butler  or  the  girl  no  longer  served  as  the  basis  of  his 
interest.  The  burglary,  the  murder  of  the  unfortu- 
nate patrolman,  every  other  feature  of  the  affair  was 
now  subsidiary  in  his  mind  to  the  engrossing  question : 
Were  those  stolen  papers  his  long-missing  proofs?  . 

But  as  this  question  took  forn..  in  his  mind,  with 
all  its  improbabilities,  there  came  another :  How  could 
he  make  sure? 


50  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Obviously,  only  by  seeing  them,  and  for  that  he 
would  have  to  find  the  man  who  took  them. 

He  gnawed  his  lip.  What  sort  of  a  wild  goose 
chase  was  he  setting  himself?  He  was  even  more  in 
the  dark  than  the  police.  They  at  least  claimed  to 
know  who  had  broken  into  the  safe  —  an  expert 
cracksman,  whose  hall-mark,  they  said,  was  unmis- 
takable. 

But  how  was  he  to  find  out  who  the  fellow  was,  get 
in  touch  with  him,  and  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  con- 
tents of  the  stolen  package? 

He  had  a  number  of  shabby,  shady  acquaintances 
whom  he  suspected  of  more  or  less  connection  with 
the  underworld ;  but  none  from  whom  it  seemed  likely 
he  could  gather  information. 

Then  suddenly  an  idea  flashed  upon  him.  The 
Hornet!  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  him  before? 

With  an  impulsive  haste  long  foreign  to  him,  Colvin 
caught  up  his  hat  and  coat,  and  hurried  to  the  door. 

Half  way  down  the  stairs,  he  paused  at  the  sight 
of  the  telephone,  and  stopping  in  the  hall,  he  called 
up  the  Whitefields'  number. 

"  Is  Miss  Fletcher  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'll  see,  sir.  Who  shall  I  say  wishes  to  speak  to 
her?" 

"  Hodgeson,  her  tailor." 

In  a  moment  Muriel's  voice  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"  Mr.  Hodgeson?     You  wished  to  speak  to  me?  " 

"  Yes.  Shall  I  assure  you  that  the  events  of  last 
night  were  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  me  as  to  you  ?  " 

"  No;  it  is  not  necessary,"  she  said  almost  curtly. 

His  heart  gave  a  quick  bound.  The  idea  of  a  collu- 
sion at  least  between  himself  and  the  real  burglars 
must  have  occurred  to  her.  She  was  too  intelligent 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  51 

for  it  not  to  have  done  so.  But  her  indifferent  dis- 
missal did  more  to  restore  his  self-confidence  than  a 
thousand  protestations. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  returned,  and  there  was  the  faint- 
est tremble  in  his  voice.  "  I  will  give  you  my  tele- 
phone number  now,  in  case  you  should  wish  to  call 
me,  and  I  hope  that  we  may  soon  be  able  to  discuss 
some  definite  plans." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  answered.  And  then :  "  One 
moment,"  in  a  lower  voice.  Her  words  came  to  him 
over  the  wire  in  scarcely  more  than  a  whisper. 

"  The  butler  has  been  closeted  with  my  uncle  and 
the  police  for  more  than  an  hour,"  she  said.  "  He's 
certain  to  tell  all  that  he  knows.  Good-by." 

Colvin  hung  up  the  receiver.  Under  suspicion! 
Well,  it  was  nothing  more  than  he  had  expected.  All 
the  more  reason  that  he  should  find  the  Hornet  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

He  hurried  across  town,  and  up  to  the  flat  which 
he  had  visited  the  night  before.  But  his  repeated 
rings  at  the  bell  brought  no  response.  While  he  stood 
puzzled  and  waiting,  a  slatternly  janitress  came  clump.- 
ing  down  the  stairs. 

"Lord!  Somebody  else  to  see  them  folks?"  she 
grumbled  at  him.  "  The  police  was  here  half  the 
night ;  but  Johnson  and  his  wife,  they  beat  it  while  the 
goin'  was  good." 

"  Gone ! "  Colvin  stared  at  her,  the  skyscraper 
of  hope  which  he  had  been  unconsciously  building, 
crashing  to  the  ground.  "  And  they  left  no  ad- 
dress?" 

"  Left  about  everything  else,"  she  tittered. 
"  Clothes,  furniture,  ice-box  full  of  grub,  even  the  cat, 
but  not  no  ad-dress.  What  is  it  they  say  on  them 


52  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

postal  cards  the  LeBeaus  down  on  the  first  floor  gets 
from  their  brother  on  the  other  side  ?  *  Somewheres 
in  France.'  Well,  maybe  that's  where  you'll  find  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Johnson." 


CHAPTER  V. 

SEISMIC  disturbances,  whether  in  volcanoes  or 
households,  are  reasonably  certain  to  cause  some 
marked  alteration  of  the  daily  habits  of  the  creatures 
within  their  radius  of  action;  and  in  this  respect  the 
upheaval  in  the  Whitefield  mansion  showed  no  de- 
parture from  universal  law.  The  ordinary  routine  of 
its  occupants  was  noticeably  disorganized. 

Mr.  Whitefield's  secretary,  young  Everett  Bab- 
cock,  had  just  told  the  chauffeur  that  instead  of  hav- 
ing the  motor  before  the  front  door  at  exactly  twenty 
minutes  to  eleven,  the  invariable  custom  every  busi- 
ness day  in  the  year,  it  might  not  be  required  at  all ; 
Mr.  Whitefield  hardly  thought  he  would  go  down  to 
his  office.  Then,  telephoning  one  or  two  more  mes- 
sages, he  returned  to  the  study  to  receive  any  further 
orders  which  might  be  issued. 

This  room,  which  had  been  invaded  the  night  before 
by  policemen  and  detectives,  not  to  mention  reporters, 
now  showed  no  trace  of  these  rude  presences.  The 
dusty  bootmarks  of  many  feet,  the  litter  of  cigar  and 
cigarette  stubs  which  had  been  strewn  heedlessly  over 
the  broad  hearthstone  and  handsome  rugs,  the  disorder 
caused  by  books,  papers,  and  ornaments  having  been 
indifferently  disturbed  in  the  unavailing  but  con- 
scientious search  for  clues,  these  had  all  been  removed. 

The  sun  fell  with  a  subdued  radiance  through  the 


54  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

curtains  of  the  windows,  and  warmed  to  a  pleasanter 
harmony  the  admirably  blended  browns  and  greens 
of  the  decorations.  A  masculine  room,  handsome, 
orderly,  reserved.  But  just  now  the  whole  composi- 
tion was  thrown  out  of  key  by  the  safe  with  its  circle 
of  neatly-drilled  holes  about  the  knob. 

William  Whitefield  himself  was  sitting  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  large,  desklike  table  looking  over 
some  papers,  when  Everett  returned.  Young  Bab- 
cock  was  the  typical  secretary  of  the  great  man,  well- 
appearing,  well-mannered,  well-groomed,  a  product  of 
efficiency,  with  about  as  much  personality  as  a  blank 
wall.  His  small,  tidy  mind  was  fitted  out  with  a 
complete  set  of  alphabetically  arranged  pigeonholes, 
and  in  them  were  stored  all  of  the  thousand  and  one 
details  with  which  his  employer  could  not  afford  to 
clutter  up  his  own  brains. 

Faultless  machines,  such  secretaries,  but  hardly  to 
be  regarded  as  human  beings  with  parts  and  passions ; 
red  ink,  not  blood,  flows  in  their  veins.  Scratch  one 
of  them,  and  you  come  on  a  card-index  system.  Yet 
even  Everett  Babcock,  whose  only  initial  impulse  was 
his  master's  voice,  had  in  the  immediate  reign  of  dis- 
order fallen  under  suspicion. 

Mr.  Whitefield  was  at  the  moment  eyeing  him  from 
under  his  heavy  brows,  and  considering  the  impossible 
possibility  of  his  having  been  implicated  in  the  occur- 
rence of  the  night  before. 

Whitefield  himself,  or  the  presentment  of  White- 
field  which  the  world  regarded  as  the  real  man,  was 
a  tall,  rather  bulky  person  of  a  little  over  sixty  years, 
with  a  full,  florid  face,  gray  hair  and  moustache.  But 
his  nose  was  long  and  thin,  and  his  gray  eyes  were  of 
the  rapid-fire  kind  —  they  never  rested  long  on  any- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  55 

thing,  just  pierced  and  then  glanced  off  —  yet  like 
Muriel,  his  niece,  he  had  the  trick  of  veiling  his  too 
acute  gaze.  The  impression  he  created  was  that  of 
the  blunt,  overbearing  man  of  power,  fond  of  his  tri- 
weekly golf,  his  auction  bridge  at  the  club,  his  care- 
fully selected  dinners,  his  well-chosen  wines.  Adopt- 
ing this  role  early  in  his  career,  he  had  played  up  to  it 
until  it  had  become  very  real  in  texture,  an  admirable 
outer  envelope  masking  his  true  and  far  more  formid- 
able characteristics,  which  were  an  unscrupulous  and 
far-seeing  cunning,  a  hard  determination,  and  a  patient 
diplomacy. 

"  Anything  else,  Mr.  Whitefield  ?  "  asked  Babcock. 

Whitefield  pondered  the  question  a  moment  or  two, 
pulling  at  one  of  his  long,  bushy  eyebrows.  Then, 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  he  ran  the  scales  for  one 
hand  on  his  forehead,  a  mannerism  of  his. 

"  Ask  Miss  Fletcher  to  come  here  a  minute,"  he 
said,  and  rising,  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  floor, 
stopping  finally  before  the  safe  and  carefully  scrutin- 
izing its  drilled  door  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time. 

He  turned  away  from  this  contemplation  as  his 
niece  entered,  and  beamed  paternally  upon  her.  '  But 
the  beam  only  widened  his  mouth;  it  failed  to  occupy 
his  eyes.  He  also  suppressed  a  sigh.  If  he  were 
formidable  in  his  way,  so  was  she  in  hers.  These 
encounters  with  her,  whether  in  the  nature  of  skir- 
mishes for  position,  or  a  definite  drive  with  all  the 
artillery  in  action,  were,  as  he  knew,  nerve-racking 
affairs,  which  so  far  had  never  resulted  in  a  decision 
for  either  of  them. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  waved  her  toward  a  chair  in  which 
she  would  face  the  light,  while  he  resumed  his  former 
seat  before  his  desk.  From  that  tactical  vantage  point 


56  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

he  again  smiled  at  her.  "  Some  stir,  last  night, 
Muriel:  some  stir.  Frighten  you  much?" 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  slightly.  "  I  was  more  ex- 
cited than  frightened,"  she  said.  "  What  did  you 
\vant  to  see  me  about,  Uncle  William?  Are  there 
new  developments  which  in  any  way  involve  me?" 

Her  prompt  refusal  to  be  put  on  the  defensive,  and 
the  audacity  with  which  she  carried  the  attack  into 
his  territory  at  once  aroused  in  him  the  mixture  of 
unwilling  admiration  and  wary  antagonism  which  he 
always  felt  upon  these  occasions. 

He  began  his  soundless  scales  upon  the  table  —  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five  —  crossed  his  thumb  neatly  under 
his  fingers,  and  began  again. 

"  H'm.  That's  just  the  point.  Muriel,  there's  evi- 
dently something  more  in  this  robbery  than  an  or- 
dinary theft.  The  loss  of  certain  files  shows  that. 
Yes,"  he  shifted  his  attitude,  leaning  on  his  elbow  now, 
and  eyeing  her  keenly ;  "  there's  something  behind  it 
all,  and  I  mean  to  find  out  what  it  is.  This  matter  is 
going  to  be  sifted  to  the  bottom." 

"Is  it  so  important  as  that?"  she  asked  ingenu- 
ously. 

Her  uncle  studied  her  as  she  leaned  forward  in 
her  chair,  her  elbows  on  its  arm,  her  long,  white  hands 
loosely  clasped  together.  She  was  a  sufficiently  strik- 
ing figure.  Her  white  serge  frock  was  trimmed  with 
a  heavy  embroidery  of  the  most  vivid  tints,  blue  and 
green  and  scarlet,  and  the  long  string  of  gold  beads 
which  hung  about  her  throat  and  fell  below  her  waist 
gave  a  barbaric  touch  that  emphasized  not  only  the 
gown,  but  her  own  subtle  and  powerful  personality. 

If  Whitefield  had  followed  his  impulse,  he  would 
have  cried :  "  My  God,  I  don't  dare  think  how  im- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  57 

portant!     It's  almost  a  matter  of  life  and  death  with 
me!" 

But  after  that  moment's  regard  of  Muriel,  he  merely 
said :  "H-m-m,"  pursing  his  lips.  "  Puzzling,  rather 
than  important.  And  puzzles  always  did  interest  me ; 
yes.  Now,  as  Dempsey  discovered  the  theft,  after  the 
first  excitement  caused  by  the  shots  was  over,  I  natur- 
ally questioned  the  rascal  pretty  closely  myself  when 
the  police  got  through  with  him.  Well,"  with  a  slight, 
menacing  smile,  "  he  was  mighty  close-mouthed  at 
first,  but  he  didn't  stay  so  very  long.  And  I  found 
out  some  interesting  facts,  very  interesting." 

"  Yes  ?  "  Muriel's  attention  was  still  polite,  but 
not  absorbed.  Her  head  was  thrown  back  against 
the  chair;  her  eyelids  were  almost  closed,  the  narrow- 
est line  of  dusk  emerald  showing;  her  throat  was  like 
a  column  of  white  marble. 

"  One  fact,"  continued  her  uncle,  "  was  that  a  man 
called  here  last  night  after  your  aunt  and  I  had  left 
the  house,  and  asked  for  you.  He  gave  his  name  as 
Vernon,  and  was  shown  into  the  library  by  your 
orders.  Dempsey  says  that  he  never  saw  him  before; 
I  had  hard  work  believing  the  story;  still,  if  Dempsey 
is  not  crazy,  it  is  a  circumstance  which  requires  con- 
siderable explanation  from  you." 

Muriel  settled  herself  more  deeply  in  the  chair. 
She  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other,  and  rested  her 
finger  tips  lightly  togther. 

"  Dempsey's  all  right,"  she  said  abruptly.  "  It's 
perfectly  true." 

"And  the  meaning  of  it?"  he  drew  in  his  breath 
ominously. 

With  annoying  deliberation,  she  opened  a  small, 
embroidered  bag  which  hung  by  her  side,  and  draw- 


58  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

ing  from  it  the  mesh  purse  which  Vernon  had  returned 
the  night  before,  handed  it  to  him. 

He  took  it,  showing  his  surprise,  and  glancing  at 
her  doubtfully  from  under  his  brows. 

"  Open  it,"  she  said. 

He  did  so,  still  suspicious  that  she  was  playing  some 
trick  upon  him,  and  took  from  it  the  visiting  card, 
the  pendant,  and  the  loose  change,  and  spread  them 
out  carefully  upon  the  table. 

"Well?" 

"  I  walked  down  to  Brentano's  yesterday  afternoon 
to  order  some  books.  I  also  meant  to  leave  my  pen- 
dant to  be  repaired;  you  see,  the  ring  is  broken.  I 
lost  the  purse  on  the  way.  The  man  you  speak  of 
found  it,  and  as  my  name  and  address  were  on  the 
card,  he  returned  it  last  night." 

Whitefield  showed  his  teeth  slightly  in  the  smile 
which  those  who  knew  him  best  felt  no  desire  to 
provoke. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  explain  how  you  happened  to 
know  that  he  \vould  return  it,  also  his  name,  and  at 
what  hour  he  would  be  here?  You  must  have  been 
aware  of  those  facts  before  you  could  give  your  in- 
structions to  Dempsey." 

Muriel's  heart  dropped  a  beat.  "  We  have  tele- 
phones in  the  house,"  she  said  laconically. 

"  Why  didn't  you  speak  of  the  loss  of  your  purse 
when  you  came  home  ?  "  He  pounded  this  question 
at  her.  "  You  go  out  for  a  walk,  lose  an  expensive 
gold  bag  and  a  valuable  pendant,  and  then  saunter 
home,  and  never  mention  the  matter  either  to  your 
Aunt  Freda  or  me?  Natural  behavior,  eh?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  entire  absence  of  ex- 
pression in  her  face,  which  irritated  him  more  than 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  59 

any  of  the  baffling  tricks  she  was  wont  to  use  in  their 
mutual  warfare. 

"  But  then,  you  see,  I  am  not  natural  with  either 
you  or  Aunt  Freda." 

She  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  retaliate :  "  Whose 
fault  is  that  ? "  and  embark  upon  a  long  argument 
which  would  distract  his  attention  from  the  main  issue. 
But  he  was  not  to  be  drawn  aside,  and  seeing  this, 
she  made  her  explanation  before  he  could  accuse  her 
of  attempting  to  evade  his  questions. 

"  I've  got  to  remind  you  again,  Uncle  William,  that 
we  have  telephones  in  the  house.  Since  my  mind 
had  been  set  at  rest  about  my  loss,  I  didn't  see  any 
reason  for  mentioning  the  matter,  and  being  scolded 
for  my  carelessness." 

"  Bosh !  "  the  word  came  explosively.  "  We  can 
quibble  all  day  about  how  this  man  came  here.  You 
and  I  can  take  that  up  later,  and  we  will,  too,  young 
lady.  What  interests  me  now  is  how  he  took  his 
leave.  That  is  the  crux  of  the  whole  matter,  and  that 
is  what  must  be  very  fully  explained.  But  first,  I 
will  ask  just  one  more  question.  Why  did  this  mys- 
terious stranger  stay  so  long?" 

As  lifelong  adversaries,  each  had  a  certain  respect 
for  the  other's  fighting  qualities,  and  each  possessed  a 
good  working  knowledge  of  the  other's  methods  of 
attack  and  retreat.  But  although  this  facilitated,  in 
a  measure,  the  procedure  of  battle,  it  never  really 
simplified  the  essential  combat;  for  each  was  fully 
aware  that  the  other  possessed  reserves  which  neither 
so  far  had  found  it  necessary  to  draw  upon. 

Muriel  had  now  begun  to  realize  that  this  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  clash  of  wills  between  them. 
Her  uncle  plainly  suspected  that  Vernon  was  impli- 


6o  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

cated  in  this,  for  her,  inopportune  robbery,  and  he 
meant  to  get  at  the  facts  underlying  the  visit  of  the 
night  before,  or  there  would  be  trouble.  Now,  if  he 
succeeded  in  entangling  her  in  conflicting  admissions 
so  that  she  would  be  forced  to  confess  not  only  her 
action  of  the  day  before,  but  the  motives  which  lay 
behind  it,  there  were  certainly  five  long  years  before 
her  of  an  even  more  restricted  life  than  this  from 
which  she  was  striving  so  desperately  to  escape.  This 
thought  nerved  her  afresh,  steadied  her.  She  fenced 
for  time. 

"So  long?"  she  asked.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
his  having  stayed  so  long  ?  " 

"  Any  time  over  fifteen  minutes  would  be  long. 
Yet  Dempsey  is  certain  that  he  was  here  over  an  hour, 
well  over  an  hour;  perhaps  two.  And  oddly  enough, 
Dempsey  didn't  see  him  take  his  leave.  Neither  did 
he  open  the  hall  door  for  him." 

"  I  suppose,"  she  returned  coolly,  "  that  when  he 
got  ready  to  leave,  Dempsey  had  probably  retired  to 
the  pantry  for  a  drink.  I  can  not  explain  it  any 
other  way." 

Whitefield  ran  the  scales  on  the  table,  his  eyes  fol- 
lowing his  fingers.  This  innocent  exercise  gave  him 
time  to  conceal  his  intense  irritation,  and  decide  on  his 
next  move.  Then  he  leaned  back  comfortably  in  his 
chair,  showing  that  he  was  in  no  haste  to  end  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Muriel,"  he  said,  in  what  was  meant  to  be  a  pleas- 
ant, reasonable  tone,  "  you  are  willful,  obstinate,  head- 
strong, and  a  few  other  things  but  you've  got  the 
.Whitefield  brains  too,  and  I'm  relying  on  that  fact 
when  I  frankly  ask  your  help  and  cooperation  in  a 
difficult  matter.  You  and  I  might  keep  up  this  kind 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  61 

of  talk  until  kingdom  come,  and  we  would  get  no- 
where. Now,  to  come  down  to  brass  tacks ;  with  your 
looks  and  that  air  of  yours,  not  to  mention  your 
money,"  he  showed  his  teeth  in  a  cynical  smile,  "  you 
can  not  help  attracting  a  lot  of  attention.  Here,  let 
me  present  a  case  for  you.  In  some  way  you  run 
across  a  man,  who,  for  certain  reasons,  you  are  pretty 
sure  will  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  your  Aunt 
Freda  or  myself;  so,  perhaps  at  his  suggestion,  you 
invite  him  to  come  to  your  home  on  an  evening  when 
you  know  we  will  both  be  out.  But  lest  this  interview 
should  be  discovered,  you  provide  a  rather  plausible 
excuse."  He  touched  the  mesh  bag  with  his  fingers. 
"But,  Muriel,  in  spite  of  your  cleverness,  you  have 
practically  no  knowledge  of  life,  or  the  ways  of  the 
world.  That  is  nothing  against  you ;  it's  bound  to  be 
so  at  your  age,  and  thank  the  Lord  for  it.  Isn't  it 
highly  probable,  then,  that  you  might  be  a  target  for 
unscrupulous  persons,  say,  a  group  of  people  who 
would  select  an  especially  attractive  man  to  excite  your 
interest?  Why,  my  dear,  that  sort  of  thing  is  done 
every  day. 

"  You  might  meet  him  a  few  times,  and  ask  him  to 
come  to  the  house,"  he  went  on.  "  And  understand, 
Muriel,  I'm  not  blaming  you  in  any  respect.  Great 
Scott,  I  haven't  forgotten  that  I  was  young  once  my- 
self!  Well,  he  comes,  gets  the  plan  of  the  rooms,  a 
few  hints  about  the  habits  of  the  family,  the  lay  of 
the  land  generally.  That  is  all  these  slick  fellows 
need,  and,"  he  waved  his  hand  palm  outward,  "  the 
robbery  occurred  last  night."  He  was  looking  at  her 
eagerly  from  under  his  brows  as  he  finished. 

Muriel  laughed  as  if  she  were  genuinely  amused. 
"  You  read  too  many  mystery  stories  late  at  night, 


62  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Uncle  William.  The  clerk  at  Brentano's  told  me  yes- 
terday that  he  had  half  a  dozen  new  ones  laid  aside 
for  you.  Honestly,  the  circumstances  of  Mr.  Ver- 
non's  visit  were  just  as  I  have  told  you.  I  found  him 
interesting,  and  was  sorry  when  he  left."  She  allowed 
a  pensive  expression  to  grow  upon  her  face.  "  To  a 
sub-debutante  like  me,  a  real  man  is  a  rarity.  I  do 
not  see  anything  but  a  few  college  kids,  and  some  of 
Aunt  Freda's  tame  cats;  and  they  all  look  at  me 
through  her  eyes." 

Whitefield  succumbed  to  the  inevitable,  and  shifted 
his  point  of  attack  very  neatly. 

"  Well,  it  looks  as  if  my  theory  was  all  astray,"  he 
conceded  good-humoredly.  "  I  guess  you're  right 
about  the  mystery  stories.  This  affair  last  night  has 
made  me  suspicious  of  everything  and  everybody." 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  deliberately  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  picking  up  a  newspaper,  glanced  over  it. 

"  So  your  new  acquaintance  was  interesting?  "  His 
tone  was  carefully  casual.  "  I  have  known  several 
Vernons.  I  wonder  if  I  have  ever  met  him.  Was  he 
a  fellow  who  has  been  living  on  the  other  side  for  a 
number  of  years,  tall,  good-looking,  with  a  Van  Dyck 
beard,  and  a  taking  smile,  a  very  taking  smile."  It 
was  a  thumb-nail  sketch  of  the  Ashe  Colvin  he  had 
known  fifteen  years  before. 

Muriel  laughed.  "  You're  away  off,  Uncle  Wil- 
liam. Mr.  Vernon  isn't  at  all  the  '  Arsene  Lupin ' 
you  are  trying  to  picture." 

Whitefield  joined  in  her  laughter,  but  his  eyes  were 
baffled.  He  shifted  his  ground  again. 

"  Heigho !  How  time  flies."  His  tone  was  ru- 
minative. "  Do  you  know,  Muriel,  I'm  just  begin- 
ning to  realize  that  you  are  grown  up?  It's  possible 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  63 

that  Freda  and  I,  in  our  anxiety  to  guard  you  against 
certain  dangers  which  threatened  you,  have  hedged 
you  about  with  too  much  care.  I  —  " 

He  stopped  as  there  was  a  hasty  knock  on  the  door, 
immediately  followed  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  White- 
field.  She  was  in  street  costume,  evidently  just  ready 
to  go  out.  She  threw  back  a  lace  veil  from  her  hat, 
but  it  fell  again,  half -concealing  her  face  which  was 
pale  and  worried.  There  were  small,  unbecoming 
pouches  under  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  not  slept.  Her 
mouth  was  compressed  and  nervous.  She  swept 
Muriel  with  a  quick,  suspicious  glance,  and  then  turned 
to  her  husband. 

"There's  nothing  new,  is  there?"  She  looked 
from  one  to  the  other.  Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

Whitefield  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  going  down  town,  William,"  she  continued. 
"  There  are  some  things  I  want  to  attend  to  this 
morning.  I  don't  have  to  bother  with  those  stupid 
detectives  any  more,  do  I  ?  "  She  watched  him  anx- 
iously as  she  asked  the  question. 

"  No.  Go  out  and  get  the  air ;  it  will  do  you  good. 
You  look  rather  seedy  this  morning,"  he  replied. 
"  But  now  that  you're  here,"  he  got  up  and  pushed  a 
chair  toward  her,  "  give  us  just  a  minute." 

She  hesitated  a  second;  then  sat  down  impatiently 
on  the  edge  of  the  chair.  She  was  a  woman  with  the 
air  of  beauty,  an  asset  almost  as  great  as  beauty  itself, 
and  often  more  convincing;  but  the  positive  quality 
was  there  also,  a  beauty  pensive  and  Madonna-like, 
of  the  type  most  appealing  to  the  heart  of  man. 

But  the  zenith  of  that  loveliness  had  passed.  In 
spite  of  her  eternal  vigilance,  her  figure  was  becoming 
a  thought  too  opulent,  and  upon  her  face  the  years 


64  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

were  writing  their  ineffaceable  and  merciless  record, 
implacably  revealing  certain  secrets  of  temperament 
which  youth  had  successfully  masked.  Hers  was  a 
delicate,  oval  face,  with  large,  full,  brown  eyes,  a  small, 
beautiful  mouth,  pale  russet  hair  with  the  sheen  of 
satin,  and  a  skin  which  had  many  times  been  likened 
to  a  white  rose  petal. 

Muriel  scrutinized  her  thoughtfully.  She  did  not 
remember  ever  having  seen  her  aunt  so  affected  by 
anything  as  this  robbery. 

"  Freda,"  Whitefield  spoke  with  a  suave  geniality 
that  his  wife  thoroughly  understood,  "  I'm  afraid  that 
you  and  I  haven't  noticed  that  Muriel  is  out  of  pina- 
fores. She  has  a  feeling  that  wre  have  been  treating 
her  a  little  too  much —  How  was  it,  you  expressed 
it,  Muriel  ?  —  as  a  sub-debutante^  Ha-ha !  " 

His  wife  lifted  the  thin,  arched  line  of  her  brows. 
"  Muriel  can  usually  find  something  to  fuss  about, 
if  she  tries,"  she  commented. 

"  What  I  want  is  soon  stated,"  broke  in  Muriel, 
pressing  with  vigor  what  she  knew  to  be  an  advan- 
tage. "  I  don't  want  any  more  paid  spies  —  you  can 
call  them  Aunt  Freda's  social  secretaries,  or  my  com- 
panions, or  anything  else  you  please  —  tagging  around 
after  me.  I  want  to  buy  my  own  clothes,  and  not 
wear  '  junior  misses '  things  which  a  girl  of  fourteen 
would  decline  to  be  seen  in.  I  want  to  choose  my  own 
friends,  too.  All  I  ask  is  just  about  the  same  amount 
of  freedom  that  any  girl  of  my  age  is  entitled  to." 

"  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  your  request  shouldn't 
be  granted."  Whitefield  shot  a  quick  glance  of  sig- 
nificance toward  his  wife.  "  But  all  that  talk  of  paid 
spies  is  very  foolish,  my  dear.  As  your  guardians, 
your  Cousin  Samuel  and  myself  have  recognized  that 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  65 

there  were  certain  dangerous  influences  -which  might 
possibly  attempt  to  reach  you ;  but  I  think,  as  you  say, 
that  you  are  now  old  enough  and  discreet  enough  to  be 
entrusted  with  a  little  more  liberty." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Muriel,  as  she  rose  with  alacrity, 
and  started  for  the  door,  giving  him  no  time  to  re- 
consider. Outside,  in  the  hallway,  she  indulged  in 
a  triumphant  foxtrot,  castanetting  her  fingers  joy- 
ously, but  without  sound.  She  showed  all  her  white 
teeth  in  a  gleam  of  intense  amusement. 

"  The  old  fool!  "  she  laughed.  "  He  thinks  I'll  be 
meeting  '  Arsene  Lupin '  around  the  corner  before  the 
day's  over,  and  he'll  have  some  one  on  the  job.  Noth- 
ing doing,  Uncle  William ! "  Again  she  soundlessly 
castanetted  her  fingers.  "Nothing  doing!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

So  ABRUPT  was  Muriel's  departure,  that  White- 
field's  lips  were  framing  to  form  another  sentence  as 
she  snapped  him  off  with  her  swift  acceptance  of  his 
terms,  and  whisked  out  of  the  room. 

He  sat  gazing  a  moment  at  the  door  as  it  closed  upon 
her,  his  eyes  slightly  narrowing.  Then  he  turned  to 
see  Freda  rising  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  his  niece. 

It  was  her  manifest  impulse  to  hurry  away.  She 
seemed  anxious  to  avoid  a  direct  interview  with  him; 
also  she  showed  difficulty  in  meeting  the  glance  he  bent 
upon  her.  She  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  fumbled  with 
the  fastening  of  one  of  her  gloves,  as  she  waited  for 
him  to  speak. 

Whitefield,  however,  failed  to  observe  her  nerv- 
ousness. He  was  absorbed  in  other  and  weightier 
considerations. 

"  Well,  Muriel  rather  thinks  she  got  me  that  time. 
And  so,  I  suppose,  do  you  ?  "  He  waited  a  moment, 
as  if  expecting  her  to  ask  an  explanation. 

"  It  does  seem  a  good  deal  of  leeway  to  give  a  girl 
of  that  age,"  she  returned  indifferently ;  "  especially 
such  a  girl  as  Muriel.  However,  if  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  indulge  her  in  —  " 

"  Oh,  there's  a  method  in  my  madness."  He 
nodded  emphatically.  "  I  am  throwing  out  a  sprat  to 
catch  a  herring.  I  propose  to  find  out  who  the  man 
is,  who  was  here  to  see  her  last  night." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  67 

"Didn't  she  tell  you?" 

"  Not  she.  A  very  clever  little  fairy  story  was  all 
I  got  out  of  her;  very  clever,  but  it  didn't  pull  the  wool 
over  my  eyes.  So  now  I  am  going  on  the  theory  that 
if  you  give  a  thief  enough  rope,  he  will  hang  him- 
self. 

"  Freda,"  he  rose  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  floor,  "  there  is  a  good  deal  more  than  appears  on 
the  surface.  It  is  evidently  a  pretty  big  plot  of  some 
kind,  and  Muriel's  been  used  as  a  cat'spaw."  He 
stopped,  and  glowered  at  the  floor.  "  Do  you  happen 
to  know  anything  of  Ashe  Colvin's  whereabouts?  " 

"  Ashe  Colvin?  "  Her  hand  fluttered  to  her  breast ; 
her  pallor  deepened  perceptibly.  "  I  have  not  heard 
of  him  for  years.  He  went  abroad,  didn't  he?  Cer- 
tainly, you  do  not  suspect  him  ?  " 

"  The  Colvin  papers  were  taken,"  he  answered 
moodily. 

"  So  were  my  — "  She  caught  herself  quickly. 
"  So  were  my  rings.  So  was  the  money.  So  was 
that  forged  check  of  Fletcher  Hempstead's." 

"  Ye-es."  He  scowled.  "  We  can  dismiss  the 
rings  and  the  money,  I  guess ;  they  were  just  lagniappe." 
He  did  not  see  her  lift  her  brows  and  bite  deep  on  her 
lower  lip.  "  What  was  really  wanted  out  of  that 
safe  was  the  Colvin  package  and  Fletcher  Hemp- 
stead's  check.  Now  what's  the  connection?  Are 
those  two  working  together?  Fletcher,  with  that 
check  out  of  the  way,  can  demand  an  accounting. 
Colvin,  with  those  proofs  back  in  his  hands,  can  — 
Good  Lord,  what  can't  he  do  ?  " 

"  But  didn't  you  say  last  night  that  you  believed  the 
legislative  investigating  commission  must  be  back  of 
it?" 


68  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Well,  maybe  it  is.  Maybe  it's  some  snooping, 
yellow  newspaper  trying  to  cause  me  trouble..  I'm 
looking  out  for  all  the  possibilities.  I  can  muzzle  a 
newspaper,  or  the  legislative  commission ;  but  the  other 
contingency  worries  me. 

"  This  Vernon  —  He  is  the  fellow  who  was  here 
last  night  to  see  Muriel;  probably  changed  his  name 
by  this  time  —  he's  the  one  clue  I  have.  He  is  the  key 
to  the  whole  situation,  and  I've  got  to  get  hold  of  him. 
The  question  is,  then :  Will  he  meet  Muriel  again,  or 
will  he  not?  I  rather  think  he  will;  Muriel's  got  a 
lot  of  money." 

He  touched  the  buzzer  on  his  desk,  and  Babcock, 
the  efficient,  appeared. 

"  Everett,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  rather  delicate  com- 
mission which  I  am  going  to  entrust  to  you,  and  I  want 
it  carried  through  without  any  hitch.  During  the 
next  few  days  I  must  have  a  complete  record  of  all  of 
Miss  Fletcher's  movements,  where  she  goes,  what  she 
does,  whom  she  meets  —  especially  whom  she  meets. 
Put  an  expert  man  on  the  job,  and  have  a  report  ready 
for  me  every  evening." 

"That  is  all,  sir?"  Babcock  bowed,  slipped  his 
notebook  into  his  pocket,  and  retired. 

Whitefield  resumed  his  walk  up  and  down  the  floor. 
"  \Vhy  don't  the  police  round  up  that  damned  cracks- 
man," he  grumbled,  "  this  '  Hornet '  they  talk  so  much 
about?  He  knows  who  employed  him,  and  I  guess, 
if  he  gets  money  enough,  he'll  open  his  mouth.  He 
ought  to  be  easy  enough  to  find,  too.  They  say  he  has 
a  scar  on  his  face." 

Freda  rose  with  a  startled  gleam  on  her  face.  "  A 
scar  ? "  she  gasped.  "  A  scar  ?  Why  —  !  Why, 
William,  do  you  remember  Fletcher  ?  " 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  69 

He  stared  back  at  her.  The  color  faded  from  his 
face.  His  jaw  dropped. 

At  the  moment  that  Whitefield  and  his  wife  were 
discussing  the  circumstances  of  the  robbery,  Colvin 
was  turning  away  from  the  Hornet's  empty  flat.  He 
was  profoundly  depressed.  He  felt  that  his  one  hope, 
a  vague  idea  of  rehabilitating  himself,  had  vanished. 
A  sense  of  being  baffled  and  defeated  remained  with 
him  as  he  walked  slowly  homeward.  The  sights  and 
sounds  in  the  streets  proved  more  or  less  diverting, 
but  once  he  had  gained  the  solitude  of  his  room,  he 
sank,  deeper  than  ever,  into  the  old  apathy  and  hope- 
lessness. 

From  this  condition  he  was  presently  roused  by  the 
whirr  of  the  telephone  bell,  but  the  tinkle  which  most 
persons  find  so  aggravating  sent  a  thrill  of  excitement 
through  his  nerves.  It  was  Muriel  Fletcher,  and  even 
in  the  commonplace  and  conventional  "  hello "  he 
noticed  a  new  quality  in  her  voice,  half  laughing,  half 
triumphant. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  feel  frightened,"  she  said,  "  but 
I  think  all  of  Uncle  William's  suspicions  are  fastened 
on  you.  I  had  a  long  session  with  him  this  morn- 
ing; he  saw  that  I  didn't  intend  to  confide  in  him,  and 
he  offered  me  the  freedom  of  a  real  girl.  Uncle  Wil- 
liam doesn't  offer  something  for  nothing.  You're  the 
prize.  By  the  way,  I  am  telephoning  outside,  in  a  booth 
in  a  drug  store;  so  it's  all  right." 

"  Well,  if  he's  given  you  more  freedom,  that's 
something  gained,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  world,"  she  laughed  back,  "  only  there  are 
more  worlds  to  conquer.  But  now  that  I  am  allowed 
my  own  playmates,  will  you  play  with  me  ?  " 

As  she  said  the  last  words  her  voice  fell  to  a  gayer, 


70  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

softer  tone,  full  of  a  faint,  husky  sweetness,  and  Col- 
vin  became  for  the  moment  thrillingly  aware  that  a 
great  part  of  her  magnetism  lay  in  her  speech. 

"  Suppose  Uncle  William  incarcerates  me ;  there 
might  be  unpleasant  consequences  for  you." 

"Bah!"  It  was  as  if  she  mentally  snapped  her 
fingers.  "  The  Whitefields  are  all  born  gamblers ;  we 
take  the  long  chance,  every  time.  Uncle  William  is 
taking  it  on  me  now." 

Colvin  hesitated  a  second.  Then  he  threw  himself 
on  her  mercy.  He  felt  his  cheek  grow  red,  and  he 
stammered  a  little  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  want  very  much  to  see  you."  His  tone  left 
no  doubt  of  his  sincerity.  "  But  I've  lived  out  of  the 
world  so  long  that  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  customs 
of  the  country  to-day.  Is  it  all  right  for  me  to  ask 
you  to  take  luncheon  with  me,  or  perhaps  tea  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  were  still  a  '  sub-deb/  "  she  said,  "  but 
under  the  present  circumstances,  tea  is  perfectly  all 
right." 

"  To-day  ?  "  came  quickly  back  over  the  wire. 

"  Not  to-day  nor  to-morrow,"  she  answered  regret- 
fully. "  I  won't  have  a  minute  before  Friday." 

She  had  calculated  quickly  that  by  Friday  a  new 
frock  which  she  had  ordered  might  possibly  be  ready. 

"  Friday  afternoon,  then,"  he  replied,  "  and 
where  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sherry's,  I  suppose,  at  five.     Good-by." 

Colvin  turned  fom  the  telephone,  his  spirits  rising, 
and  his  disappointment  at  not  seeing  her  at  once 
greatly  mitigated  by  the  fact  that  before  Friday  he 
should  be  able  properly  to  prepare  for  the  event.  He 
had,  in  his  day,  been  one  of  the  makers  of  manners, 
but  during  his  exile  tailors  and  haberdashers  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  71 

ceased  to  play  any  part  in  his  scheme  of  existence. 
He  had  indifferently  worn  the  garments  which  re- 
mained of  what  had  once  been  a  vast  wardrobe,  nor 
thought  of  replenishing  it.  But  to  return,  even  tem- 
porarily, to  a  world  which  he  had  foresworn,  and  to 
explore  it  with  a  girl  like  Muriel,  demanded  a  renova- 
tion, not  only  of  ideas,  but  of  appearance.  He  de- 
cided that  some  of  the  builders  of  good  clothes  who 
had  been  authorities  in  his  days  must  still  be  im- 
portant. He  had  the  true  New  Yorker's  respect  for 
appearances;  that  desire  adequately  to  dress  what- 
ever part  one  may  be  playing.  He  looked  up  several 
addresses  in  the  telephone  directory,  and  then  went 
out  to  see  about  the  matter. 

But  it  was  not  only  because  it  gave  him  more  time 
to  select  a  wardrobe  that  he  was  glad  Muriel  had 
named  Friday;  it  also  gave  him  more  time  to  adjust 
his  mind  to  the  events  in  which  he  found  himself 
plunged,  and  to  consider  the  immediate  future. 

During  the  next  few  days  he  endeavored  to  put  him- 
self more  and  more  in  touch  with  the  environment  he 
had  once  so  passionately  renounced,  and  which  had, 
in  retrospect,  been  so  abhorrent  to  him  that  in  years 
he  had  not  dared  to  think  of  it.  He  went  to  the 
theatres  once  or  twice;  dined  in  the  hotels  which  had 
been  put  up  since  his  day,  and  studied  with  wonder 
the  newer  aspects  of  a  city  which  continually  trans- 
formed and  renewed  itself,  changing  its  business  and 
social  districts  with  all  the  caprice  which  a  spoiled 
whimsical  woman  shows  in  discarding  old  gowns  for 
fresh  ones. 

All  this,  however,  was  in  the  way  of  diversion.  He 
never  for  a  moment  ceased  his  vigilant  search  for  the 
Hornet,  fruitless  though  it  was.  But  on  Thursday 


72  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

noon,  as  he  was  strolling  home  to  his  lodgings,  he 
noticed  a  little  ahead  of  him  a  man  who  had  stopped 
to  light  a  cigarette,  but  who  was  plainly  without  a 
match.  He  went  through  all  his  pockets  vainly,  and 
then,  as  Colvin  was  about  to  pass  him,  stepped  up  to 
the  latter  and  asked  for  a  light.  Colvin  handed  him 
his  match-box. 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  man  as  he  gave  it  back,  and 
then  added  quietly  and  with  scarcely  a  movement  of 
the  lips,  "  Johnson  will  be  at  The  Dome  Monday  eve- 
ning. Wants  you  to  take  dinner  with  him  early.  Be 
careful;  they're  after  him  pretty  close  since  the 
Whitefield  affair." 

He  moved  on  before  Colvin  could  reply.  But  Ashe 
did  not  mind  that;  he  walked  with  a  light  step.  A 
little  good  news,  the  sort  of  news  one  wants  to  hear, 
always  goes  to  one's  feet  as  well  as  to  one's  head.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  crazy  in  believing  that  the  Hornet 
would  not  have  risked  seeing  him  unless  he  had  some 
information  which  would  be  of  interest  to  him.  Any- 
way, it  was  plausible  to  believe  so,  but  he  determined 
to  waste  no  time  in  conjecture.  He  did  not  care 
about  chancing  many  more  disappointments;  therefore, 
the  better  to  ignore  the  matter,  he  tried  resolutely  to 
turn  his  attention  into  other  channels. 

The  idea  had  come  to  him  several  times  of  leaving 
his  present  quarters,  but  his  mind  had  slanted  off  of  it, 
refusing  to  contemplate  so  definite  a  move.  In  fact, 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  clarify  his  thoughts,  every- 
thing seemed  inchoate;  events  had  followed  events 
with  a  rapidity  which  had  left  him  a  little  stunned,  and 
his  course  of  action  for  the  future  depended  much  on 
what  the  Hornet  might  have  to  tell  him. 

It  was  a  good  sporting  bet  that  the  Hornet  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  73 

opened  the  safe  and  taken  the  jewels,  but  it  was  just 
one  chance  in  a  million  that  the  papers  which  had  also 
been  removed  related  to  him.  When  he  got  this  far 
in  his  speculation,  he  always  stopped  himself  and  tried 
to  think  of  something  far  remote  from  these  absorb- 
ing personal  matters  which  only  led  into  a  blind  alley. 
Yet  now  the  question  of  moving  assumed  a  different 
aspect. 

If,  as  Muriel  said,  Whitefield  suspected  him,  it 
would  probably  be  no  time  at  all  before  the  police 
would  ferret  him  out,  and  then  for  days,  weeks  per- 
haps, he  would  be  shadowed.  That  would  mean  a 
blocking  of  all  his  plans.  Under  such  circumstances, 
it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  see  either  Muriel  or 
the  Hornet,  for  their  sakes  as  well  as  his  own. 

Therefore  it  seemed  expedient  for  him  immediately 
to  move.  So  he  packed  up  his  belongings,  leaving  his 
furniture,  however,  and  holding  the  rooms,  and  re- 
moved at  once  to  a  quiet  up-town  hotel  on  one  of  the 
side  streets,  communicating  to  no  one,  except  to  Mu- 
riel, whom  he  informed  by  telephone,  his  present 
address. 

To  his  landlady  he  merely  explained  that  he  would 
be  away  for  a  time.  He  regarded  it  as  a  purely  tem- 
porary departure.  As  for  other  plans,  they  were  for 
future  consideration;  in  the  present  there  was  after- 
noon tea  with  Muriel. 

And  Friday  dawned.  A  light  rain  had  fallen  during 
the  night,  and  the  atmosphere  had  a  clear  shining,  a 
freshly  washed  and  inspiring  radiance.  The  air  was 
sparkling  as  wine,  the  sky  was  the  dome  of  a  thou- 
sand sapphires,  the  sunlight  a  shimmering  flood. 

Something  of  the  joy  of  the  day  touched  Colvin'n 
spirit  as  he  hurried  towards  Sherry's  twenty  minutes 


74  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

before  the  hour.  The  early  autumn  twilight  was  be- 
ginning to  draw  violet  veils  over  the  sparkle  of  the 
afternoon.  Within  that  shrine  of  dinners  forgotten 
and  dinners  anticipated,  women  were  gathering,  stun- 
ning women  groomed  like  shining  race  horses,  gayly 
greeting  the  good-looking  men  who  awaited  them. 

Five  o'clock.  The  favorite  hour  of  flirtation  in 
New  York.  The  shadows  growing  grayer  and  deeper 
without,  within  the  little  table  in  a  remote  corner  with 
its  vase  of  red  roses,  its  dim,  pink-shaded  lights.  The 
music  of  the  moment  sighs  through  the  rooms,  the 
fragrance  of  tea  fills  the  air.  An  exquisite  hour! 
Very,  very  far  away  is  the  commonplace  home  atmos- 
phere. Is  it  any  wonder  that  women  love  it,  this  little 
period  of  relaxation  when  the  cares  of  the  day  may  be 
definitely  cast  aside,  and  it  is  not  yet  time  to  put  on 
the  silken  spangled  harness  of  the  evening,  to  call  the 
duty  smile  to  the  lips,  the  duty  sparkle  to  the  eyes, 
and  "  bow  to  the  world's  low  footlights." 

The  moments  passed.  It  was  now  well  past  five. 
Colvin  began  to  feel  disconsolate.  He  had  been  look- 
ing forward  so  eagerly  to  seeing  her  again,  and  now 
it  looked  as  if  she  were  not  coming  at  all. 

And  then  she  came,  a  little  breathless  as  if  she  had 
hurried  greatly.  How  vital,  how  electric  she  was! 
Not  so  baffled  and  rebellious  as  when  he  had  seen  her 
last,  but  more  conquering  than  ever.  Involuntarily 
a  sharp  sigh  arose  to  his  lips.  She  seemed  to  strike 
his  heart  like  a  wave  of  the  sea  of  life;  the  light 
became  warmer,  more  glowing,  the  music  infinitely 
sweeter. 

And  over  her  face  too  there  passed  a  faintly 
startled  expression.  It  was  little  more  than  a  week 
since,  acting  upon  an  impulse,  a  blind  faith,  she  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  75 

taken  an  enormous  chance  with  destiny,  and  given 
her  purse  and  her  secret  to  a  shabby,  sad-looking  man 
in  the  street;  a  man  with  something  about  him  ghost- 
like and  remote,  as  if  he  had  wandered  from  some  dim 
land  of  shades.  And  now  he  was  coming  toward  her, 
the  same,  yes,  but  with  a  different  air,  moving  in  a 
different  atmosphere,  temporarily  at  least,  an  easy 
denizen  of  the  great  world.  Only  his  eyes  revealed 
that  he  still  lingered  on  the  border  of  some  cloudy 
hinterland. 

"  I  know  I'm  dreadfully  late!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  but 
I  have  just  managed  to  lose  my  new  chaperon.  It 
has  been  a  great  chase,"  as  they  moved  toward  the  door 
of  the  tea-room,  "  I  have  been  leading  the  poor  soul  — 
it's  a  man  you  know  —  such  a  dance  since  about  three 
o'clock.  He  was  very  nimble,  but  I  finally  lured 
him  to  my  dressmaker's;  there  I  vanished  into  one  of 
the  fitting-rooms  which  has  two  doors,  made  my  way 
to  the  back  of  the  building,  and  came  out  on  an- 
other street." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  being  watched?"  he 
said  in  a  shocked  tone.  "  Oh,  I'm  afraid  that  is  all 
my  fault." 

"  Don't  bother  about  it,"  she  laughed.  "  I'm  en- 
joying it."  She  seated  herself  at  the  little  table  which 
he  had  secured  in  a  secluded  nook.  "  I  feel  really  out 
in  the  rush  of  things  at  last.  Oh,  tea  ?  Oolong  please, 
and  orange  marmalade  sandwiches."  She  threw  back 
her  furs  and  opened  her  coat.  "  I've  had  tea  with 
what  Uncle  William  calls  my  young  companions,  and 
with  Aunt  Freda  and  Ollie  Darnton  or  some  other  of 
her  tiresome  men,  but  never  with  a  man  of  my  own 
before." 

He  was  unused  to  the  extreme  candor  of  the  mod- 


;6  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

ern  young  woman,  license  our  grandmothers  would 
have  called  it,  but  to  him,  crushed  by  circumstances, 
deadened  by  the  undeviating  routine  of  apathetic  and 
monotonous  years,  it  was  as  stimulating  as  heady 
wine;  and  more  than  anything  else  the  little  tingling 
shock  which  her  audacity  gave  him  made  him  feel  at 
one  with  his  old  self. 

"  Oolong  tea  and  orange  marmalade  sandwiches," 
he  said  to  the  waiter,  while  a  tinge  of  red  showed  under 
the  skin  of  his  cheek.  Then  he  leaned  across  the  table, 
no  longer  the  ghost,  the  shell  of  a  man,  but  the  old 
Colvin  again,  with  life  and  fortune  at  high  tide.  His 
gray  eyes  were  full  of  laughter  and  emotion,  and  on 
his  lips  was  the  old  smile,  tender,  possessive,  ardent, 
which  had  never  failed  to  strike  a  responsive  chord  in 
the  heart  of  the  woman  on  whom  it  was  bestowed. 

"  Am  I  —  that  ?  "  He  had  dropped  his  voice 
almost  to  a  whisper;  then,  as  her  astonished,  almost 
frightened  eyes  met  his,  "  your  man  ?  " 

A  little  white  flash  went  over  her  face  as  she  realized 
that  he  had  captured  her  unmeant,  careless  speech,  and 
colored  it  with  the  rose  hue  of  a  romantic  significance. 
It  was  her  first  encounter  with  passion.  There  was 
a  brief  struggle  with  the  conventional  and  conventual 
training  of  years,  the  shyness  of  girlhood,  and  then 
she  followed  her  instinct  with  a  glorious  intrepidity, 
an  uncalculating  courage,  which  stirred  his  blood  to  a 
mad  beating.  Her  green,  dusky  eyes  gleamed  through 
their  narrowed  lids,  and  there  was  fire  in  them.  Her 
red  mouth  was  no  longer  sullen,  but  bewilderingly 
sweet;  her  smile  held  the  lure  of  the  world's  desire. 

The  moment  revealed  more  to  each  of  them  than  a 
thousand  years  of  speech,  and  then  the  curtain,  lifted 
long  enough  for  both  to  gain  a  flash  of  the  ancient 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  77 

wisdom,  fell  again.  Training  and  convention  asserted 
themselves. 

Muriel,  looking  down,  rearranged  her  fork  and 
spoon.  They  sipped  their  tea.  She  praised  its 
flavor.  She  was  the  intelligent,  worldly-wise,  sexless, 
twentieth-century  young  woman,  sedulously  ignoring 
all  traces  of  beautiful  and  real  emotion.  She  was  able 
to  look  at  him  again,  even  to  make  her  glances  apprais- 
ing. Coolly  she  noted  the  classic  shape  of  his  head, 
the  brown  hair  with  the  gray  above  the  ears  and  on  the 
temples,  his  high-bred  features,  the  grace  and  distinc- 
tion of  his  figure.  Her  pulses  controlled,  she  had  will 
enough  for  anything.  She  appeared,  as  she  forced 
herself  to  this  detached  scrutiny,  to  be  turning  over 
something  in  her  mind.  Finally  she  decided  to  voice 
it,  and  when  she  spoke,  it  was  with  even  more  than  her 
customary  abruptness. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,"  she  said,  "  just  in  the  little  time 
I've  known  you,  I've  told  you  more  about  myself  than 
I  have  ever  told  any  one  in  the  world.  Don't  you 
think  it's  about  time  we  talked  a  little  of  you?  " 

He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  table,  his  cheek  on  his 
hand.  His  face  fell  into  the  old  lines,  his  mouth 
drooped  again.  His  eyes  became  vague  and  sad  as 
they  followed  the  smoke  wreaths  of  his  cigarette;  his 
years  seemed  as  profitless  and  drifting. 

"  That  is  only  fair,"  he  said,  but  the  life  and  interest 
had  gone  out  of  his  voice.  "  Perhaps  you  can  make 
it  easier  to  tell  you  anything  you  wish  to  know  if 
you  ask  me  some  questions." 

"  Any  questions  I  want  to  ask?  "  quickly. 

"  I  can't  imagine  any  you  could  want  to  ask,"  he 
smiled,  but  unhappily. 

"  Naturally,"  she  was  looking  at  him  with  those 


78  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

penetrating,  Whitefield  eyes  of  hers,  "  I've  thought  a 
lot  about  you  since  we  met.  This  is  my  first  real 
adventure.  But  it  is  all  so  contradictory.  There  is 
so  much  that  I  do  not  understand  and  can  not  piece 
together." 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"  You  \vould  be  a  clairvoyant  if  you  could." 

"  Anybody  can  see  that  you've  had  all  kinds  of 
things  in  your  life,"  she  mused.  "  Mr.  Vernon,"  with 
one  of  her  quick  changes  to  impetuous  speech,  "  you 
keep  my  imagination  working  over  time.  I  am  think- 
ing of  you  constantly."  Her  tone  was  petulant. 
"  You  seem  to  me  like  a  man  I've  read  about,  one  of 
those  French  abbes  of  the  seventeenth  century  who 
spent  their  lives  at  court  and  in  drawing-rooms,  pull- 
ing wires  and  flirting  with  pretty  women,  and  then 
suddenly  left  it  all  and  went  off  to  the  new  world  to 
be  missionaries  to  the  Indians." 

He  looked  at  her,  both  amazed  and  amused  at  the 
analogy. 

"  Do  not  get  any  romantic  ideas  about  me  in  your 
head,"  he  said.  "  I  just  quit,  dropped  out,  deserted 
from  the  big  army  of  workers." 

"What  made  you  desert?"  She  was  like  some 
cool,  competent  young  surgeon  probing  a  wound,  not 
because  she  found  it  pleasant,  but  because  it  was 
necessary;  and  he  bore  the  probing  for  that  reason. 

"  I  thought  at  the  time  it  was  circumstances,"  his 
voice  was  depressed.  "  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
since  that  it  was  a  streak  of  yellow  in  me.  You  see, 
circumstances  gave  me  more  than  one  knock-out  blow, 
but  there  was  one  in  particular  which  seemed  to  de- 
prive me,  not  only  of  the  will,  but  even  of  the  desire 
tp  corne  back," 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  79 

He  drank  his  tea,  and  smiled  at  her  across  the  cup. 

"  Miss  Fletcher,  I  am  not  even  a  visitor  from  the 
night's  Plutonian  shore.  There  is  something  virile 
and  positive  in  hell,  but  I  am  just  a  kind  of  a  dim 
shade  from  Purgatory,  stealing  a  little  while  to  look 
in  a  moment  upon  a  world  I  once  cared  a  lot  about." 

She  continued  to  gaze  at  him  in  that  abstracted 
way  as  if  he  were  more  a  problem  she  were  trying 
to  solve  than  a  man  who  interested  her. 

"  I  don't  know  much,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am  sure 
of  one  thing.  Mr.  Vernon,  you  can't  stay  outside 
it  all;  you've  got  to  come  back." 

He  felt  the  current  of  her  dynamic  resolution;  it 
seemed  to  flow  to  him  from  her  in  a  flood  of  strength 
and  confidence.  The  words,  as  she  said  them,  were 
like  an  electric  shock.  Come  back!  As  he  sat  there 
with  her,  it  almost  seemed  possible.  She  was  as  af- 
firmative as  sunlight.  The  tide  of  shadow  which  en- 
gulfed him  ebbed,  until  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
stood  free  of  it,  and  then  —  its  stealthy  lapping  began 
again. 

"  Can  a  man  ever  really  come  back  ? "  he  asked 
moodily,  his  eyes  on  the  table,  his  cheek  on  his  hand. 

"  It's  a  big,  splendid  world,  and  there  are  big,  splen- 
did things  to  do  in  it,  and  it's  men  like  you  who 
ought  to  put  their  shoulders  under  it,  and  push  it 
along.  You're  good,  you're  sincere.  Oh,  yes,  you 
are.  I  trusted  you  the  minute  I  saw  you,  and  even 
that  night,  when  everything  seemed  to  point  to  you 
as  the  guilty  person,  I  never  doubted  you." 

"  Ah,  that  brings  me  back  more  than  anything  else 
could  do,"  he  murmured  with  profound  gratitude. 
"  You  can  not  imagine  what  that  means  to  me.  Since 
I've  begun  to  be  alive  again,  I've  been  feeling,  realiz- 


8o  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

ing  something  intensely ;  I  seem  to  get  something  from 
the  air.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  just  the  newness 
of  everything  that  made  me  think  that  things  were 
different;  but  I've  been  increasingly  conscious  that 
that's  not  so.  The  whole  mental  outlook  of  the  world 
has  shifted  and  altered.  It  is  this  war!  It  has  given 
the  world  a  new  impulse,  a  new  faith.  Our  shallow 
scepticisms  and  cynicisms  are  done  for.  Faith  in  the 
essential  things,  ourselves  unfettered  by  traditions,  that 
is  one  of  them.  Oh !  "  it  was  a  low,  exceeding  bitter 
cry,  "  you  ask  me  to  come  back !  How  can  I,  when 
every  avenue  is  closed,  every  opportunity  is  barred? 
Oh,  if  I  were  only  not  on  the  scrap  heap!  " 

"  How  dare  you  say  that !  "  Her  voice  challenged 
all  the  manhood  of  him.  She  looked  straight  at  him ; 
no  subtle  narrowing  of  the  lids  now;  no  softening 
nor  sympathy  in  her  eyes;  he  could  not  have  borne 
it  if  there  had  been. 

For  him  the  barriers  were  down  at  last,  the  proud 
reserves  of  tradition  and  training,  an  armor  which 
encased  him,  hardened  by  suffering,  melted  in  the 
warmth  of  her  understanding. 

"  That  afternoon,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  that  after- 
noon when  I  met  you,  you  trusted  me,  you  asked  me 
to  do  something  for  you.  It  restored  me  to  life;  I 
was  a  man  again.  I  wanted  to  plan,  to  think,  to  fight 
and  lose,  maybe,  but  to  make  a  fight  of  it,  and  that 
desire,  that  longing,  conies  back  to  me  when  I  am 
with  you.  Then  I  am  young  agin.  The  fifteen  years 
I  spent  in  hell  are  gone  like  smoke,  but  alone  — • 
Muriel,  Muriel,  do  you  realize  what  a  part  habit  plays 
in  our  lives?  I  have  fifteen  years  behind  me  of  death, 
of  apathy,  of  indifference  and  negation,  and  it's  like 
a  visible  thing  now,  a  shadow  always  about  me.  It 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  Si 

holds  me  in  its  power,  and  I  can't  escape;  I  can't  shake 
off  its  influence." 

She  stretched  her  strong,  warm  young  hand  across 
the  table  and  caught  his. 

"  No  shadow  can  touch  the  sunshine,"  she  said, 
"  and  I'm  going  to  stand  in  the  sunshine  till  the  Day 
of  Judgment  if  necessary,  waiting  for  you,  for  you've 
got  to  come  back." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  early  night  of  autumn  had  already  fallen  when 
Colvin  walked  down  from  his  hotel  to  The  Dome. 
His  mind  was  naturally  centered  on  his  coming  inter- 
view with  the  "  Hornet,"  and  yet  he  could  not  be 
wholly  insensible  to  the  picturesque  quality  of  the 
region  through  which  his  way  took  him. 

A  bit  of  old  New  York,  which  Colvin  had  always 
loved,  and  which,  in  spite  of  its  soaring,  modern  apart- 
ment houses,  still  retains  its  individuality.  In  the 
center  of  the  square,  the  garden  behind  its  high,  iron 
fence  preserves  its  peaceful  and  charming  seclusion; 
and  in  the  white  flare  of  the  electric  lights,  its  flowers, 
its  old  trees,  its  plashing  fountain,  dream  as  placidly 
as  in  the  time  when  the  "  Sage  of  Gramercy  "  looked 
down  from  his  study  windows  upon  the  lamp-lighted 
enclosure. 

A  few  blocks  farther  on  is  The  Dome,  and  as  Colvin 
entered  the  restaurant,  he  saw  that  the  tables  were 
rapidly  filling.  There  was  the  blare  of  an  orchestra 
in  his  ears,  a  hazy  curtain  of  blue  smoke  before  his 
eyes.  At  the  far  end  of  the  long,  oak-panelled  hall, 
a  famous  Gypsy  violinist  balanced  himself  on  the  edge 
of  his  platform.  Hunched  over  his  violin,  and  keep- 
ing his  whole  body  in  rhythmic  time  to  the  music,  he 
bent,  and  swayed,  and  bobbed,  and  bowed,  the  broad 
grin  of  a  delighted  barbarian  on  his  face. 

Ashe  moved  slowly  down  the  room,  but  as  he  glanced 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  83 

about  among  the  diners,  he  saw  no  one  who  in  the 
least  resembled  the  "  Hornet."  About  the  middle  of 
the  hall  and  down  two  or  three  steps  was  another  long 
room  lying  at  right  angles  to  the  first.  He  stepped 
into  it;  here  the  tables  were  more  sparsely  filled,  but 
still  he  looked  in  vain. 

He  had  about  decided  to  sit  down  and  await  the 
"  Hornet's  "  coming,  when  he  heard  some  one  say : 
"Hello,  Vernon." 

He  turned  sharply  to  see  a  man  sitting  at  a  small, 
round  table  just  behind  him  and  looking  at  him 
amusedly.  While  Ashe  stared  in  the  effort  to  place 
him,  the  other  pulled  back  a  chair  at  his  side  and 
motioned  Colvin  to  sit  down.  Ashe  did  so,  still  star- 
ing. It  was  difficult  for  him  to  believe  that  this  was 
really  the  "  Hornet" 

"  Stop  lamping  me  so  hard,  or  you'll  attract  atten- 
tion," growled  his  companion,  a  tall,  quiet  looking  per- 
son who  wore  glasses  and  a  dark  moustache.  "  Here, 
study  the  card  instead,  and  I'll  talk." 

Colvin  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  on  the  menu,  but 
his  pulses  were  bounding.  It  must  be  as  he  had  sus- 
pected. The  "  Hornet  "  was  badly  "  wanted."  Else 
he  would  never  have  gone  to  such  pains  to  conceal  his 
identity. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  your  scar  ?  "  Ashe  could 
not  help  asking. 

"  It's  puttied  up  and  painted,  and  I'm  only  hoping 
my  moustache  won't  fall  off  in  my  soup." 

"Can  they  do  a  job  like  that?"  Colvin  breathed 
in  wonder,  permitting  himself  another  swift  glance 
at  the  other's  cheek. 

"  '  They  '  can  do  anything  these  days,  if  they're  paid 
for  it.  Believe  me." 


84  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  But,  Johnson  — " 

There  was  a  sudden,  swift  change  in  the  lounging, 
commonplace  man.  He  was  a  slack  wire  instantane- 
ously taut,  a  steel  spring  automatically  coiled  for 
action. 

"  No  names  here,"  he  snapped.  "  Don't  forget 
again." 

The  cold  menace  of  that  voice  would  have  made 
the  most  hardened  shiver.  Colvin  recalled  that  no 
matter  how  mild  and  friendly  a  hornet  might  appear, 
it  was  yet  fashioned  to  sting. 

"  I  understand,"  he  agreed.  "  But  weren't  you  a 
little  reckless,  eh,  picking  out  so  well  patronized  a 
place  as  this  for  our  meeting?" 

The  "  Hornet "  had  relaxed  again.  "  Safe  as  the 
church  which  it  resembles.  I  keep  away  from  Broad- 
way, and  also  from  the  cheap  and  nasty  haunts  of 
my  fellow  laborers  in  the  vineyard." 

Ashe  smiled.  "  Good  reasoning,  no  doubt.  You've 
surely  done  it  remarkably  well.  You,  as  you  sit  there, 
are  one  of  ten  thousand  respectable,  middle-aged  men, 
employed  from  eight  in  the  morning  until  six  in  the 
evening.  You  look  as  if  your  only  dissipation  was 
a  newspaper,  a  glass  of  beer,  a  cigar,  and  maybe  a 
game  of  pinochle." 

"  My  dissipations  are  more  exciting  than  that," 
chuckled  the  other.  He  was  in  high  good  humor. 
"  It's  one  to  see  you  to-night,  old  man.  I  feel  like 
talking  to  some  one  who  speaks  my  language." 

The  waiter  appeared  with  the  excellent  bourgeois 
dinner  they  had  ordered,  and  the  two  spoke  of  casual 
topics  while  he  served  it.  But  Ashe  was  wondering 
every  moment  what  lead  he  could  make  that  would 
induce  the  "  Hornet "  to  discuss  the  Whitefield  rob- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  85 

bery;  for  the  latter  appeared  to  be  in  a  lazily  reflective 
and  philosophical  mood. 

"  It's  not  bad  here,"  he  said,  surveying  the  black, 
oak  walls  with  the  frieze  of  painting  depicting  interest- 
ing adventures  in  the  life  of  a  hero  of  romantic  verse; 
"  especially  if  you  know  how  to  choose  your  food. 
But  that's  true  of  most  places." 

"  I'm  admiring  your  nerve,"  broke  in  Colvin  genu- 
inely enough,  but  still  with  the  idea  of  leading  up  to 
the  essential  topic.  "  To  come  right  out  into  the  open 
like  this.  Your  disguise  is  great  to  my  unsophisti- 
cated eyes,  but  there  are  quantities  of  other  eyes  look- 
ing out  for  you  which  are  not  unsophisticated.  You 
can't  alter  your  height,  nor  the  way  you  carry  your 
shoulders,  nor  your  walk,  for  instance." 

The  "  Hornet "  laughed  again,  evidently  pleased. 
"  Oh,  can't  I  ?  "  he  said.  "  I'll  bet  that  your  first  im- 
pression of  me  this  evening  was  that  I  was  consid- 
erably stouter  than  the  man  you  were  looking  for,  and, 
if  you  had  squinted  twice,  you  would  have  seen  that 
my  shoulders  are  higher  and  more  sloping  than  his. 
As  for  my  walk,  I  have  half  a  dozen.  I  couldn't  have 
risen  to  eminence  in  my  profession  unless  I  had  long 
ago  mastered  those  little  stunts." 

Ashe  was  feeling  vastly  entertained.  This  man  had 
the  faculty  of  compelling  interest,  and  Colvin,  with 
Muriel  in  mind,  was  studying  him  closely  to  see  if 
there  were  any  points  of  similarity  between  him  and 
his  young  cousin. 

In  a  way ;  yes.  Hempstead  —  for  he  never  doubted 
that  Alf.  Johnson,  alias  "  The  Hornet,"  and  Fletcher 
Hempstead  were  one  —  and  Muriel  had  the  same  qual- 
ity of  personal  magnetism.  They  might  each  repel  as 
strongly  as  they  would  attract,  but  neither  could  be 


86  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

overlooked.  The  voice  of  authority  meant  nothing  to 
either  of  them.  They  made  their  own  laws,  and  abided 
by  them  when  it  suited  them  to  do  so.  And  there  was 
the  slightest  of  physical  resemblances,  also,  a  mere 
suggestion.  It  lay  more  in  the  lift  of  the  head  and 
the  long  slant  of  the  eyes  than  in  any  actual  like- 
ness. 

"Sorry,  if  I  seem  inquisitive,"  said  Colvin;  "and 
you'll  know  how  to  put  me  in  my  place  if  I  am.  But 
your  speaking  of  your  profession  gives  me  an  opening. 
My  own  position,  as  one  like  yourself,  outside  of  the 
big  game,  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  ask  you  the  ques- 
tion. Why  should  a  man  like  you  have  undertaken 
a  profession  like  yours?" 

The  other  sipped  his  beer,  and  smiled  with  a  sort 
of  saturnine  mellowness. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  man  like  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  obvious  birth,  education,  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

The  "  Hornet,"  still  smiling,  struck  a  match  on  the 
box,  and  leisurely  lighted  a  fresh  cigar. 

"  I  lay  it  all  up  to  heredity,"  he  mused.  "  My 
blood's  to  blame  for  it.  We're  an  uncurbed  lot, 
we  — "  He  broke  off  on  the  brink  of  the  name.  "  Did 
you  ever  consider,  Vernon,  that  brains  in  themselves 
are  not  dangerous ;  it's  the  temperament  that  goes  with 
them.  Temperament  will  boss  the  brain  every  time. 
Well,  we  —  the  Smiths,  say  " —  he  chuckled  again  — 
"  have  all  got  more  will,  imagination,  and  recklessness 
than  is  convenient.  Scramble  the  combination,  and 
you  get  deviltry.  All  this  talk  of  a  criminal  instinct, 
unless  in  the  case  of  an  absolute  defective,  is  rot.  I 
made  my  choice  a  little  too  early  in  life,  flung  myself 
out  of  what  you  call  the  'Big  Game'  in  a  huff  —  a 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  87 

boy's  dream  of  being  the  King  of  the  Outlaws.  Too 
much  will  and  imagination,  you  see. 

"  Now,  my  uncle,"  he  went  on,  "  a  superdevil,  has 
a  pinch  less  will  and  several  grains  less  imagination; 
and  he  is  a  great  financier  and  politician." 

"  Just  so,"  agreed  Colvin  drily. 

The  "  Hornet "  glanced  sharply  at  his  companion 
as  if  a  new  thought  had  struck  him. 

"  I  wonder  if  by  any  chance  you  know  who  I  am?  " 
he  probed. 

"  By  the  merest  of  chances,  and  an  odd  one  at  that, 
I  do." 

Meeting  the  dark,  intent  gaze  bent  upon  him,  he 
scribbled  the  name  across  an  edge  of  the  menu  card, 
and  passed  it  across  the  table. 

The  other  nodded,  as  he  tore  off  the  penciled  line, 
and  shredded  it  between  his  ringers. 

"  Well,  that  simplifies  things,  at  any  rate.  I'd  like 
to  know  how  you  found  it  out  —  there  aren't  many 
people  wise  to  it  —  but  your  eye  defies  me  to  ask  you 
the  question. 

"  Ah,  Vernon,"  he  leaned  back,  sipping  his  beer, 
and  philosophizing  again  to  the  annoyance  of  his  im- 
patient companion.  Colvin  was  on  tenterhooks  to 
hear  the  "  Hornet's  "  version  of  the  robbery ;  but  he 
knew  the  man  was  given  to  sudden  transitions  of 
mood,  and  if  hurried  too  much,  might  refuse  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  at  all.  So  he  dared  not  interrupt. 

"  Ah,  Vernon,"  repeated  the  "  Hornet,"  surveying 
the  rings  on  his  beer  mug  with  lazy  satisfaction, 
"  luck's  an  odd  thing.  There  are  times  when,  do  what 
we  will,  the  tide'll  go  out  on  us,  taking  every  blessed 
thing  we've  got,  and  leaving  us  with  nothing  but  bare, 
dry  sand  in  sight,  Anc}  then  all  at  once  that  blasted 


88  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

tide  turns,  and  we're  overwhelmed,  carried  into  port 
without  the  least  effort  on  our  part.  The  fact  is, 
Life's  feminine.  Just  because  we  can't  understand  her, 
she  fascinates  us.  She's  the  siren  that  will  take  our 
last  cent  if  we  are  starving.  She  grabs  everything, 
and  gives  nothing.  But  once  in  a  while,  once  in  a 
coon's  age,  and  a  blue  moon,  she's  in  the  humor  to 
melt.  And,  God !  How  sweet  she  is.  How  she  loves 
us.  How  she  smooths  our  rough  and  rotten  path. 

"  The  other  night,  for  instance  " —  Colvin  drew  a 
long  breath  here.  Surely,  he  could  be  referring  to  but 
one  night  — "  she  decided  that  she'd  love  me  a  little, 
and  she  threw  a  big  opportunity  my  way.  You  un- 
derstand me,  I  imagine.  I  had  been  watching  and 
waiting  for  it  a  long  time.  Well,  it  came.  Every- 
thing went  smooth  as  glass  —  with  one  exception. 
And  a  damned  unfortunate  one,  too,  for  me,  consid- 
ering some  plans  I  had  in  view."  His  whole  face 
darkened. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar,  "  no 
man  ever  yet  '  took  a  chance '  for  a  good  woman. 
It's  the  hussies,  the  women  who  look  at  us  with  a 
maddening  devil  in  their  eyes  —  Satan  bless  'em ! " 
smiling  his  cynical,  distorted  smile.  "  So,  here's  to 
you,  Life,  you  Jezebel!" 

"  Not  Jezebel."  Colvin  set  down  his  glass.  "  If 
you  ever  went  to  Sunday  school,  you  will  remem- 
ber that  Jezebel  played  the  game  like  a  man  and  a 
clever  politician,  and  got  thrown  to  the  dogs  for  it. 
What  you  mean  is :  Here's  to  you,  Life,  you  De- 
lilah!" 

"  Oh,  I  was  well  drilled  in  the  Scriptures  in  my  early 
days,"  grinned  the  "Hornet."  "Delilah?  Sure,  I 
know  the  lady.  She  laid  for  her  man,  made  the  poor 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  89 

boob  think  she  loved  him,  got  all  his  secrets,  cut  his 
hair,  and  then  sold  him  out  to  the  Philistines." 

"Yes;  and  she's  been  doing  it  ever  since."  Col- 
vin's  tone  was  as  bitter  as  his  smile. 

The  "  Hornet "  called  the  waiter  and  ordered 
more  beer.  The  room  echoed  with  the  sound  of  clap- 
ping hands.  The  diners  were  vociferously  applauding 
the  Gypsy's  passionately  sentimental  rendition  of 
"  The  Rosary." 

"  I  have  the  faculty  of  never  forgetting  a  name 
once  heard,  or  a  face  once  seen."  The  "  Hornet  " 
bent  a  half -mocking,  half -curious  glance  on  the  man 
who  sat  beside  him.  "  Years  ago,  when  Ashe  Colvin 
was  one  of  New  York's  picturesque  figures,  I  saw 
him."  He  paused  a  moment,  but  Ashe  never  stirred. 
"  Well,  ever  since  that  night  when  you  found  me  flat- 
tened against  the  wall  in  your  doorway,  and  took  me 
up  to  your  room,  I've  known  that  you  were  he." 

Still  Colvin  made  no  sign. 

"  A  life-saver  you  were  that  night,  sure,"  the  "  Hor- 
net "  went  on.  "  They'd  have  caught  me  with  the 
goods,  and  for  the  first  time,  too.  It  wasn't  exactly 
up  to  me  to  ask  you  any  questions;  but  I  knew  you 
right  away,  and  I  remembered  how  you  had  made  your 
fade-out,  and  how  the  papers  were  full  of  it.  By 
Jove,  at  the  time  it  all  happened,  I  believed  that  my 
dear  Uncle  William  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  That's 
right,  isn't  it?  Frame-up,  eh?"  He  had  leaned  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  his  piercing,  Whitefield  eyes  on 
Colvin. 

Ashe  nodded,  but  without  looking  up.  He  was 
building  a  log  cabin  of  matches  on  the  tablecloth,  and 
apparently  giving  his  entire  attention  to  the  elaborate 
structure. 


90  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Well,  when  I  was  looking  over  William's  safe  the 
other  night,  chiefly  for  something  concerning  only  my- 
self, '  a  mere  scrap  of  paper  ' — and,  by  George,  I  got 
it,  too ;  "  the  "  Hornet "  gave  his  deep,  throaty,  sar- 
donic chuckle,  "  I  saw  a  neatly  docketed  package  with 
'  Colvin  papers '  written  on  it.  Sit  down ! "  He 
gripped  Ashe's  arm  with  his  long,  slender,  uncannily 
efficient  fingers.  "Shut  up!  I'll  do  the  talking." 

Colvin  obeyed  him.  Slowly  his  whole  tense  figure 
relaxed.  He  drew  one  deep  breath,  and  lifted  his 
eyes  —  searchlights  of  hope  —  to  the  "Hornet" 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  "  he  stammered.  "  Do  you  mean 
it?  Then  where  are  they?"  His  jaws  were  set  like 
a  trap.  "  Let's  get  out  of  here."  He  started  to  rise. 

"  This  is  a  good,  safe  place  for  the  present."  Again 
the  other's  steel-like  touch  pressed  him  back  into  his 
chair.  "  You  listen,  son,  and  sit  tight  if  you  want  to 
hear  the  rest.  I  took  those  papers  with  the  full  inten- 
tion of  turning  them  over  to  you ;  but  when  the  acci- 
dent happened  outside  —  you  know  —  it  was  a  case 
of  my  getting  to  cover  in  a  hurry.  I  had  too  much 
on  me  that  was  of  value  to  run  any  risks."  There 
was  a  deep,  secret  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  "  So  I  sent 
the  package  to  Retta  with  a  note  telling  her  to  give 
it  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  would  take  care  of  it  for 
me,  while  she  made  a  get-away. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  I  wanted  to  throw  the 
'  dicks '  off  the  scent,  while  I  attended  to  the  stones, 
and  I  knew  that  they  would  follow  her.  She  left  for 
Charleston  that  night,  I  am  told,  and  has  since  sailed 
for  Honduras,  with  them  trailing  her,  of  course.  But 
what  I  can't  figure  out  is  what  she's  done  with  that 
package.  She  didn't  give  it  to  —  well,  my  friend." 

Colvin  gave  an  inarticulate  exclamation  of  disap- 


He  gripped  Ashe's  arm  with  his  long,  slender,  uncannily 
efficient  fingers.     Page  go. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  91 

pointment.  His  log  cabin  lay  in  ruins,  a  heap  of  scat- 
tered matches  over  the  table.  Mechanically  he  began 
sorting  them  into  orderly  rows. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  downhearted,"  encouraged  the  "  Hor- 
net." "  The  package  isn't  lost." 

Ashe  laughed  drearily.  "  So  far  as  I  can  see,  it 
might  as  well  be.  Whitefield's  reward  will  probably 
draw  those  papers  right  back  to  where  they  came 
from." 

"  And  me  to  reckon  with  ?  "  Something  in  the  grat- 
ing incredulity  of  the  voice  made  Colvin  turn,  and  he 
was  struck  more  forcibly  than  ever,  in  this  instance 
consolingly  so,  by  the  malevolent  power,  the  sinister 
dominance  of  this  quiet,  inconspicuous  person  at  his 
elbow. 

"  The  devil  of  it  is  that  I  can't  get  in  touch  with 
Retta  to  find  out  what  she's  done  with  them."  The 
"  Hornet  "  was  plainly  annoyed.  "  She  won't  attempt 
to  communicate  with  me  until  they  stop  waiting  for 
me  to  join  her.  She'll  let  them  watch  for  a  while, 
and  then  she'll  slip  through  their  fingers,  and  lose  her- 
self. And  it  won't  be  until  then  that  she  will  try  to 
reach  me.  Even  then  it  won't  be  directly;  the  word 
will  come  through  some  one  else." 

There  was  a  little  lightening  of  the  cloud  on  Col- 
vin's  face.  "  You  have  done  something  for  me  I  will 
never  forget,  never,"  he  said.  "  But  have  you  no  idea 
at  all  where  that  package  may  be.  It  means  everything 
on  God's  earth  to  me  to  get  it." 

The  "  Hornet "  slowly  shook  his  head,  frowning 
perplexedly.  "  It  gets  me,"  he  said.  "  I've  had  some 
inquiries  made,  but  there's  nothing  come  of  them. 
However,  I'll  get  down  to  it  myself  in  a  day  or  so; 
I've  been  pretty  busy  on  some  mighty  delicate  and 


92  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

important  work."  He  grinned  with  a  sort  of  gloating 
and  reminiscent  satisfaction.  "  Oh,  you  Uncle  Wil- 
liam!" His  wicked  chuckle  rattled  in  his  throat. 
"  I  cast  my  net,  and  pulled  in  everything  in  sight.  I 
could  turn  virtuous  and  stay  so  on  what  I  took  from 
Uncle's  strong  box.  Strong  box?"  he  scoffed. 
"  There  ain't  no  such  animal." 

Ashe  looked  at  him  with  a  surprise  that  was  three 
parts  scorn.  "  Good  Lord,  man ! "  he  exclaimed  in- 
voluntarily. "  Are  you  gloating  this  way  over  a  few 
rings  and  brooches  ?  " 

"Hell!"  The  "Hornet"  deeply  outscorned  him. 
"  Why,  son,"  he  looked  cautiously  around  him,  and 
then  murmured  so  low  that  Colvin  barely  heard  him: 
"  I  got  the  sapphires !  " 

"  You  got  —  ?  "  Ashe  looked  at  him  speechlessly, 
and  then  faintly  raised  his  brows. 

A  great,  sagging  disappointment  lay  like  a  weight 
about  his  heart.  Delusions!  Delusions  of  a  drug- 
wrecked  brain.  The  Colvin  papers  and  the  sapphires ! 

And  yet  some  papers  had  undoubtedly  been  taken 
from  the  safe;  and  what  were  they,  that  Whitefield 
had  shown  such  anxiety  to  recover  them?  But  the 
sapphires  ?  Incredible. 

Ah,  these  brilliant,  iridescent  thought-bubbles  of  a 
morphia-maniac.  They  had  floated  deceptively  for  a 
moment  before  Colvin's  eager  vision,  and  now  as  he 
strove  to  grasp  them,  they  vanished,  flinging  a  splash 
of  cold  water  in  his  eyes. 

Across  his  meditations  broke  the  rasping  laugh  of 
his  companion,  and  Ashe  looked  up  with  irritated 
impatience. 

Hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  legs  stretched  com- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  93 

fortably  under  the  table,  the  "  Hornet  "  was  shaking 
with  mirth.  His  eyes  were  reading  Colvin's  mind. 

"Don't  believe  it,  eh?" 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  Ashe  asked  dully.  "  So  likely  that 
the  police  and  everybody  concerned  would  ignore  a 
loss  like  that?" 

The  "  Hornet "  thrust  his  face  close  to  Colvin's. 
It  gleamed  with  a  hard  triumph. 

"  They  don't  know  it.  My  lovely  aunt  put  them 
in  the  safe  herself  about  twelve  o'clock.  I  saw  her 
do  it."  He  hugged  himself  at  the  recollection.  "  I 
told  you  Life  loved  me  that  night,  but  who  ever 
dreamed  she  would  be  so  good  to  me  as  that? " 

"  Oh,  it's  true  enough,"  nodding,  as  Colvin  still 
stared  at  him.  "  For  weeks  I  had  been  watching  one 
particular  mouse-hole.  I  was  tipped  off  more  than 
two  months  ago  that  my  aunt's  latest  lover,  Ollie 
Darnton,  had  pawned  them.  He  was  in  an  awful 
hole,  and  her  blue  stones  pulled  him  out.  He  got 
them  back  late  that  afternoon  after  the  banks  had 
closed.  I  had  him  shadowed.  He  gave  them  to  her 
at  a  dinner  at  the  H'ortons'.  She  had  no  place  to 
keep  them  but  in  the  house.  Didn't  dare  tell  William, 
of  course.  Well,  I  knew  then  that  they  were  my  meat. 
And  that  wasn't  all  I  wanted,  and  meant  to  get,  either. 
The  '  scrap  of  paper ' —  indisputable  evidence  of  my 
first  transgression.  It  was  outlawed  some  time  ago, 
but  as  long  as  the  old  devil  held  it,  he  could  dictate 
terms  in  a  way.  So  I  got  that.  Oh,  it  was  all  too 
easy."  His  face  darkened.  "  And  then  came  that 
damned  accident  outside  the  door.  I'd  give  a  farm 
if  it  hadn't  happened.  That's  what  comes  of  using 
unskilled  labor." 


94  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

'  You  mean  you  didn't  do  it  ?  "     Colvin  asked  the 
quick  question. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I'm  a  cracksman,  not  a  butcher. 
It  was  this  way.  I  had  an  outside  man,  a  green  hand. 
He  lost  his  head,  and  fired  at  the  wrong  time.  That 
is  the  absolute  truth.  But,"  he  added  with  a  shake 
of  the  head,  "  I  will  never  be  able  to  prove  it.  They 
have  fastened  it  on  me,  and  I  will  have  to  stand  for 
it. 

"  And  murder  is  something  else,  Vernon."  He  re- 
lapsed into  sombreness.  "  It's  never  outlawed,  always 
hanging  over  you.  I  tell  you,  it's  put  an  awful  kink 
in  some  plans  I  was  making.  And  yet,"  he  shifted 
his  position,  and  apparently  cast  regrets  from  him, 
"  there  are  ways  to  get  around  anything  on  earth." 

"  Vernon,"  he  said,  lighting  his  third  cigar,  "  as  I 
remarked  before,  my  trade  is  one  that  appeals  to  the 
romantic  and  disorderly  instincts  of  youth.  I  do  not 
suppose  a  boy  ever  lived  who  didn't  dream  of  being 
a  bandit  chief.  But  it's  like  every  other  game;  it 
takes  a  lot  of  brains  to  be  anything  but  a  piker  in  it, 
and  even  then  what  do  you  get  ?  You're  hunted  from 
rat-hole  to  rat-hole,  and  the  rewards  are  piffling  com- 
pared to  those  of  big  business.  You're  '  outside,' 
with  all  the  handicaps  that  word  implies.  Now,  in- 
side the  lines  of  organized  society,  the  game  is  every 
bit  as  crooked,  but  the  rewards  are  twice,  five  times 
as  great.  Vernon,  I  want  to  get  back.  I  want  to 
play  inside  the  lines.  And,  if  I  know  anything  about 
human  nature,  and  the  thoughts  of  a  man  '  when  he 
comes  to  forty  year/  I'll  bet  my  hat  that  you  do, 
too." 

Ashe  looked  at  him  strangely.  Both  "  outside ! " 
Both  oddly  thrown  together  in  life's  big  shuffle !  Both 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  95 

actuated  by  the  same  longing,  the  same  determination 
—  to  get  back,  to  play  inside  the  lines  again ! 

"  I  understand."  Colvin  spoke  quietly.  "  I  feel  the 
same  way  myself.  I've  got  to  do  it,  but — "  He 
passed  his  hand  perplexedly  over  his  forehead. 

"  Let's  pool  our  interests,"  said  the  "  Hornet " 
softly.  "  Two  heads  are  better  than  one.  Two  work- 
ing together  for  the  same  end  can  travel  a  mile,  where 
one  goes  a  half.  The  way  I  stand  is  this."  He  took 
a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and  began  making  lines  on 
the  tablecloth.  "  There's  a  large  fortune  waiting  for 
rne  to  claim.  Don't  tell  me  that  Uncle  William  hasn't 
been  using  the  income,  and  probably  the  principal  all 
these  years.  But  I  never  felt  like  doing  anything  on 
account  of  that  forged  check  he  held.  It  is  in  my 
possession  now." 

"But — ?"  Ashe  looked  at  him  dubiously,  and 
hesitated. 

The  other  caught  the  meaning  of  that  hesitation 
immediately.  "You  mean  my  police  record?"  He 
glanced  up  from  the  neat  squares  and  triangles  he  was 
drawing  on  the  table  cover.  "  Son,  I  haven't  any  — 
no  rogues'  gallery  portraits,  no  measurements,  no 
thumb  imprints.  For  years  I  have  been  a  legend  to 
the  Detective  Bureau.  They  haven't  got  a  thing  on 
me.  They  know  my  work,  but  not  me.  Who  can 
tell,  though,  how  long  luck  like  that  will  hold?" 
There  was  a  fatalistic  expression  on  his  haggard  face. 
"  I  want  to  go  back,  while  I  still  hold  some  of  the 
trumps." 

Colvin  stared  before  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
every  word  the  man  spoke  was  a  menace  to  Muriel, 
a  black  cloud  on  her  horizon.  But  he  let  the  "  Hor- 
net "  continue  unchecked. 


96  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  I  want  to  get  out  of  the  country,"  the  latter  went 
on.  "  There's  nothing  in  New  York  to  interest  me. 
You  see  I've  been  quitting  '  dope '  lately,  under  treat- 
ment, and  ambition  stirs.  I  don't  care  to  just  drift 
around  the  world.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  picked 
up  some  rather  big  concessions  over  there."  He 
jerked  his  thumb  vaguely  over  his  shoulder. 

An  overwhelming  sense  of  relief  filled  Colvin,  and 
then  an  idea  was  born  in  his  brain,  inchoate,  lacking 
completion,  and  yet  —  it  might  solve  the  difficulty. 
He  closed  his  eyes.  Behind  them  the  idea  seemed  to 
dazzle  and  crash  through  his  head. 

"  I'm  going  home."  He  spoke  with  a  sudden  reso- 
lution. "  I've  got  to  think."  He  stood  up,  gay,  as- 
sured, the  Colvin  of  fifteen  years  before.  The  light 
that  had  flickered  out  of  his  eyes  during  his  long  period 
of  apathy  and  eclipse  shone  clear  and  undaunted.  The 
old,  confident  smile  was  on  his  lips. 

"  Partners  ? "     He    caught    up    the    other's    offer. 

"  All  right ;  we'll  play  it  as  it  lays.  You  go  out 
and  round  up  that  missing  package  for  me,  and  I'll 
draw  the  lightning  off  you.  My  friend,  we  are  going 
to  give  Uncle  William  the  fight  of  his  life." 

The  "  Hornet  "  looked  at  him  doubtingly  a  moment, 
a  frowning  question  in  his  glance.  Then  the  smile 
in  Colvin's  eyes  found  a  harsh  and  cruel  reflection  in 
his. 

"  Whitefield  wits  against  Whitefield  wits,  with  Ashe 
Colvin  on  the  side,  eh?"  He  gave  his  malevolent, 
one-sided  grin.  "  It'll  be  a  peach  of  a  duel  in  the 
dark." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  FEW  days  after  Colvin  had  his  momentous  talk 
with  the  "  Hornet  "  at  The  Dome,  he  paid  a  visit  to 
two  aunts  of  his  who  lived  alone  in  an  old  house  east 
of  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  Fifties. 

This  call  was  dictated  by  two  motives;  one  was 
genuine  affection  and  a  sincere  desire  to  see  his  only 
living  relatives  again.  The  two  sisters  had  been  tre- 
mendously fond  and  proud  of  him  in  his  Prince  For- 
tnnatus  period,  and  later,  when  the  rains  descended 
and  the  floods  came,  they  had  been  his  staunchest  sup- 
porters and  at  the  last  his  only  defenders. 

The  second  motive  was  more  complex.  The  "  Hor- 
net" and  himself  had  decided  that  the  best  way  for 
him  to  return  to  the  fold  of  society  was  by  what 
Colvin  knew  instinctively  would  be  for  him  the  open 
door  of  his  aunts'  house.  There  were  certain  reasons, 
too,  why  this  move  would  prove  especially  perplexing 
to  Whitefield  —  reasons  which  tickled  irrepressibly  the 
"  Hornet's  "  sardonic  sense  of  humor. 

But  as  Colvin  took  his  way  to  the  house  late  on  a 
cloudy  afternoon  in  early  November,  the  question  up- 
permost in  his  mind  was  in  what  manner  and  with 
what  fitly  chosen  words  he  should  apprise  his  aunts 
of  the  return  of  their  long-lost  nephew. 

He  had  not  reached  a  decision  when  the  door  was 
opened  to  him,  and  he  was  still  in  doubt  when  he  was 
shown  into  the  well-remembered,  old-fashioned  draw- 


98  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

ing-room.  So  he  concluded  to  leave  it  on  the  knees 
of  the  gods.  Perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  disclose 
his  real  identity  gradually;  otherwise,  it  might  be  too 
much  of  a  shock.  There  were  cases  in  which  the 
dead,  no  matter  how  passionately  mourned  at  the  time 
of  their  passing,  would  have  proved  a  few  years 
later  to  be  most  unwelcome  and  embarrassing  in- 
truders. 

But  it  was  Colvin  himself,  and  not  the  ladies,  who 
was  to  suffer  the  shock.  Not  so  much  on  account  of 
his  Aunt  Martina,  Mrs.  Vansittart,  a  widow  who  had 
elected  to  stay  so  in  spite  of  flattering  opportunities 
to  do  otherwise;  but  principally  because  of  his  Aunt 
Estelle,  the  elder  of  the  two  sisters,  who  also  had 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  eligible  offers,  and  remained  a 
spinster,  purposely  neglecting  to  provide  herself  with 
the  customary  excuses.  She  disclaimed  both  the  pro- 
verbial "  unhappy  and  romantic,  youthful  attachment," 
and  the  "  lover  who  had  met  with  an  untimely  death 
on  the  very  eve  of  our  marriage,"  while  the  s' accuse 
"  spinster  by  choice  and  not  by  necessity  "  met  with 
her  well-merited  scorn. 

The  years  seemed  to  roll  from  Colvin  as  he  entered 
the  drawing-room,  done  in  the  style  of  the  Second 
Empire,  and  practically  unchanged  since  his  earliest 
remembrances.  It  was  adorably  mid-Victorian,  and 
so  consistently  outside  the  prevailing  vogue  that  it 
was  frequently  admired  as  the  last  new  thing  in  draw- 
ing-rooms. 

Mrs.  Vansittart,  stout  and  comfortable,  sat  before 
a  cosy  grate  fire,  reading,  a  tea-table  at  her  elbow. 
When  Colvin  was  announced,  she  looked  up  with  a 
cup  half-way  to  her  mouth,  and  the  inquiring  expres- 
sion on  her  face  changed  to  a  lively  interest,  as  this 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  99 

distinguished  looking  stranger,  with  a  deep,  livid  scar 
across  his  cheek,  advanced. 

Of  course  she  must  have  met  him  some  place,  and 
have  asked  him  to  come  and  see  her;  but  it  was  odd 
that  she  should  have  forgotten  any  one  so  noticeable. 
It  might  be,  though,  that  he  was  an  acquaintance  of 
Estelle's. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Vernon."  She  put  down 
both  her  teacup  and  book.  "  I  was  beginning  to  think 
no  one  would  be  in.  Such  a  dreary  afternoon.  My 
sister  will  probably  be  here  any  moment.  How  will 
you  have  your  tea  ?  " 

Her  voice,  her  presence,  the  appearance  and  atmos- 
phere of  the  old  room  brought  back  former  days  to 
him  with  a  peculiar  vividness.  The  call  of  blood  is 
a  more  potent  one  than  most  of  us  realize.  In  spite 
of  himself,  Colvin  followed  his  impulse,  and  cast  his 
doubts  and  fears  to  the  wind. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Aunt  Martina  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  quiver  of  feeling  in  his  voice.  "  I'm  Ashe. 
Ashe  Colvin." 

She  stifled  a  cry,  ran  toward  him,  and  then  drew 
back  slowly,  giving  him  a  long,  intent  look  in  which 
suspicion  and  wonderment  were  mingled. 

"  Take  off  those  glasses,"  she  commanded.  As  he 
obeyed,  she  came  a  step  nearer,  and  looked  deep  into 
his  eyes.  "  You  are !  "  There  was  a  sharp,  high  note 
of  excitement  in  her  voice.  "  You  are !  Oh,  where 
did  you  come  from?  Where  have  you  been  all  these 
years?"  She  threw  her  arms  about  him,  kissing  and 
hugging  him.  Then  she  stood  back  from  him,  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  Once  more  she 
clasped  him  in  her  arms.  "  My  boy !  My  dear  boy ! 
This  is  one  of  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life. 


ioo  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  But,  oh !  "  she  shuddered.  "  How  did  you  get  that 
dreadful  scar  ?  " 

His  heart  smote  him  to  deceive  her.  Yet  how  could 
he  tell  her  that  it  was  only  the  painted  semblance  of 
a  wound,  done  with  infinite  care  and  skill. 

"  I  had  an  accident."  His  tone  prevented  further 
questioning. 

His  aunt  shuddered  again.  "  Where  is  Essie  ?  " 
she  cried  impatiently.  "  She'll  probably  be  dancing 
somewhere  until  dinner  time.  But  then  you'll  stay  to 
dinner,  of  course?  There'll  be  three  or  four  people 
here,  but  you  won't  mind  that." 

He  hesitated.  "  Not  if  you  promise  to  introduce 
me  as  Mr.  Vernon." 

"  Oh,  dear  Ashe !  "  in  shocked  protest.  "  An  as- 
sumed name!  Such  a  common  thing  to  do.  And 
why?" 

"  Can't  help  it.  Look  here,  Aunt  Martina,"  he 
gazed  down  at  her,  his  smile  a  little  strained,  but  eager 
and  pleading ;  "  there's  a  chance,  a  bare  chance,  that 
the  old  mystery  may  have  a  little  light  thrown  on  it. 
And  on  that  bare  chance  of  unearthing  something,  I 
want  to  come  back  to  the  world.  But  not  as  Ashe 
Colvin.  That  would  be  too  great  a  handicap."  He 
laughed,  but  without  bitterness. 

"  Now,  I  want  you  to  look  at  me  well,  with  the  eyes 
of  the  most  suspicious  and  curious  person  you  know, 
and  tell  me  frankly  if  you  think  there  is  any  chance 
of  my  being  recognized,  or  remembered." 

She  gazed  at  him  searchingly,  her  hands  on  his  shoul- 
ders ;  and  then  she  moved  away,  and  studied  him  care- 
fully from  varying  distances  and  at  different  angles. 

"  I  don't  believe  it's  a  possibility,"  she  said  at  last, 
speaking  slowly,  and  a  little  sadly.  "  You've  changed. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  101 

You're  so  much  older.  And  that  terrible,  disfiguring 
scar  alters  the  whole  expression  of  your  face." 

She  winced  again,  and  then  she  forced  herself  to 
speak  more  cheerfully. 

"  Fifteen  years  is  a  century  in  New  York,  and  the 
world  forgets  so  soon.  People  you  never  heard  of 
are  in  the  saddle  now,  and  the  few  who  might  remem- 
ber you  would  never  recognize  you  as  you  look  to-day. 
I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do;  we'll  try  you  on  Essie, 
when  she  comes."  Her  face  cleared  at  this  inspira- 
tion. "  She's  not  easily  fooled.  She'll  probably 
think  you're  some  adventurer  I've  picked  up,  and  that 
you're  trying  to  marry  me  for  my  money."  She  shook 
with  laughter. 

"  But  how  can  I  stay  to  dinner,  if  you  have  guests," 
he  looked  down  at  himself;  "that  is,  unless  you  let 
me  go  back  to  my  hotel  first,  and  dress." 

"  Nonsense.  People  are  not  nearly  so  formal  as 
they  used  to  be.  It's  a  slip-shod,  go-as-you-please 
world  to-day.  You  can  run  up  to  one  of  the  guest 
rooms,  and  tidy  up,  while  I  get  into  my  dinner  gown. 
And,  goodness  gracious !  "  glancing  at  the  watch  on  her 
wrist,  "  I'd  better  be  about  it.  Come  up  with  me 
now.  If  you  don't  find  everything  you  want,  just 
ring.  You've  got  half  an  hour." 

She  left  him  at  the  door  of  the  blue  guest  room, 
first  seeing  that  the  lights  were  switched  on ;  and  after 
washing  his  hands,  and  brushing  his  hair,  he  carefully 
scrutinized  his  scar  in  the  brilliantly  lighted  mirror. 
Satisfied,  he  selected  a  book  from  a  small  table,  pulled 
the  cord  of  the  reading  lamp,  and  sitting  down,  began 
to  read.  But  this  was  impossible.  He  could  not  con- 
centrate his  attention  to  save  his  life. 

The  last  few  days  had  been  full  of  thought  and 


102  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

action.  There  had  been  many  conferences  with  the 
"  Hornet."  With  infinite  pains,  they  had  mapped  out 
a  campaign.  It  had  been  something  like  playing  a 
game  of  chess,  with  Whitefield  as  a  dummy.  They 
had  played  not  only  their  own  game,  but  his  as  well, 
trying  to  anticipate  every  move. 

Then  Colvin  had  paid  his  bill  at  his  hotel,  and  de- 
parted —  a  quiet  gentleman  with  an  undisfigured  coun- 
tenance. A  few  hours  later  he  took  rooms  at  another 
hotel,  a  marked  man  anywhere. 

And  now  he  had  definitely  cast  the  die.  He  was 
fulfilling  his  promise  to  Muriel,  and  coming  back. 
It  hadn't  been  easy.  It  had  been  terribly  hard  now 
and  then  to  merge  the  man  of  reverie,  of  moody  in- 
trospection into  the  man  of  constructive  thought  and 
definite  action.  Sometimes  he  felt  that  he,  more  than 
all  men,  must  realize  the  agonies  of  attempting  to  obey 
the  high  command  of  St.  Paul,  and  put  off  the  old 
man.  But  at  the  moment  of  wavering,  he  had  only 
to  remember  Muriel's  words,  to  picture  her  standing 
in  the  sunshine  waiting  for  him  until  the  Day  of 
Judgment;  and  his  courage  would  return,  his  will  be- 
come alive  and  vigorous  again. 

One  side  of  him  hated  this  painted  scar  on  his  face ; 
it  seemed  a  cheap  and  unworthy  trick.  But  there  were 
certain  possibilities  which  would  arise  from  "  Vernon," 
so  eagerly  desired  by  William  Whitefield,  joining  a 
coterie  of  socially  important  people  with  Fletcher 
Hempstead's  scar  upon  his  face.  Bewildered  White- 
field  !  Puzzled  police !  The  "  Hornet "  had  roared 
with  laughter  to  the  prospect.  And  the  spirit  of  ad- 
venture, which  had  stirred  anew  so  strongly  in  Colvin, 
helped  him  to  bear  his  disfigurement  with  resignation. 

The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  of  the  blue  guest  cham- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  103 

her  chimed.  The  half-hour  Mrs.  Vansittart  had  given 
him  was  passed.  He  threw  down  his  unread  book, 
and  hastened  down  the  stairs  to  find  that  the  guests 
had  already  assembled.  His  Aunt  Martina  at  once 
took  possession  of  him,  and  introduced  him  to  about 
six  people,  the  average  dining-out  group. 

For  some  reason,  perhaps  with  malicious  intention, 
she  presented  to  him  Mr.  Samuel  Cruger  last. 
"  Tubby,"  deep  in  conversation  with  another  man,  had 
wheeled  at  the  sound  of  his  hostess's  voice.  He  looked 
more  like  a  Santa  Claus  without  whiskers  than  ever,  if 
the  imagination  can  conceive  of  such  a  being.  When  he 
heard  the  name,  Vernon,  he  showed  visible  agitation; 
and  then,  as  he  glanced  up  at  Ashe,  and  noted  the  scar, 
the  color  left  his  round,  pink  face,  his  short,  rotund 
body  went  limp.  But  before  he  could  do  more  than 
murmur  inarticulately,  Mrs.  Vansittart  swept  Colvin 
on. 

She  was  doing  the  thing  splendidly,  Ashe  thought. 
She  managed  to  infuse  into  every  introduction  the 
impression  that  Mr.  Vernon  was  a  person  of  rare  dis- 
tinction, and  that  she  had  achieved  a  triumph  in  per- 
suading him  to  remain  for  dinner.  She  was  rather 
superb,  Mrs.  Vansittart,  dumpy  and  clumsy  though  she 
was;  still,  with  her  white  hair  rolled  back  from  her 
broad,  ruddy  face,  her  trailing,  lusterless,  black  silk 
gown,  with  heavy  jet  chains  covering  her  fat,  white 
neck,  and  with  her  grand  air,  few  could  have  been 
more  imposing. 

"  I've  just  been  telling  every  one  that  you  stopped 
in  to  see  me  this  afternoon  after  an  absence  of  several 
years  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,"  she  managed  to  whis- 
per. "  I  left  it  vague,  so  you  can  choose  any  place 
you  please.  I'm  going  to  put  you  beside  Estelle,  and 


104  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

I'll  bet  you  a  thousand  of  your  favorite  brand  of  ciga- 
rettes against  five  pounds  of  Page  and  Shaw,  that  she 
won't  know  you.  And  Estelle's  eyes  are  pretty  keen, 
when  she  uses  her  high-power  lorgnette.  Oh,  here  she 
is." 

Miss  Colvin  —  his  Aunt  Estelle  —  came  in  just  as 
the  most  important  event  of  the  whole  day  was  an- 
nounced. The  morning  papers  and  dinner!  They 
rouse  an  intensity  of  interest,  a  thrill  of  anticipation, 
which  none  of  the  other  occurrences  in  life's  routine 
can  quite  compass. 

And  this  was  his  Aunt  Estelle !  Colvin  looked  at  her 
almost  shyly  as  they  walked  down  the  hall  together. 
Was  she  really  two  years  older  than  her  sister  —  this 
slender,  .graceful,  positively  lissome  woman,  with  her 
shining,  waved,  brown  hair,  her  vivacious  face, 
touched  up  a  bit  perhaps  but  still  handsome?  She 
wore  a  beautiful  dinner-gown  of  old  rose  and  blue 
with  a  sort  of  iridescent  gleaming  through  it  and  a 
few  odd  and  handsome  jewels. 

Estelle,  as  he  had  known  her  years  before,  was  be- 
ginning to  be  a  rather  faded  and  old-maidish  person, 
perilously  near  what  may  be  called  the  apologetic  age, 
when  a  woman  becoming  increasingly  and  morbidly 
conscious  of  wrinkles,  sallow  skin,  pied  or  dappled 
hair,  mentally  craves  the  pardon  of  the  world  for  hav- 
ing ceased  to  adorn  it.  But  here  his  astonishment  was 
shot  athwart  with  remembrance.  He  recalled  the  fact 
that  she  was  a  Gansevoort,  and  the  Gansevoorts  did 
not  apologize,  neither  did  they  succumb.  They  either 
accepted  what  they  considered  the  inevitable,  and  made 
merry  in  it,  as  had  Mrs.  Vansittart,  or  they  went,  and 
saw,  and  conquered,  like  Estelle.  A  wise  virgin,  there 
was  no  echo,  "  Too  late ! "  in  her  ears.  She  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  105 

trimmed  her  lamp,  and  used  it  to  light  her  to  the 
beauty  doctor,  the  dancing  and  skating  classes,  and  had 
thriftily  multiplied  her  interests  in  life. 

"  My  sister  said  something  about  your  having  just 
arrived  from  the  other  side  of  the  world,  Mr.  Vernon," 
she  remarked,  as  Ashe  sat  down  beside  her  at  the 
table.  He  felt  a  little  frightened  to  have  her  thus 
open  fire  on  him  without  wasting  time.  He  knew  that 
she  was  at  once  cleverer  and  more  subtle  than  her 
sister.  "  The  Far  East,  was  it  ?  '  From  the  desert, 
you  come  to  we  ? '  '  smiling. 

He  laughed  at  her  twist  of  the  quotation,  and  capped 
it.  "  But  not  '  on  my  Arab  shod  with  fire.' ' 

"  I  suppose  the  desert  has  its  pleasures,  but  skating 
would  hardly  be  one  of  them,  would  it?" 

"Hardly,"  he  returned. 

"  And  skating  is  really  the  only  thing  worth  living 
for  at  the  present  time.  That,  and  a  few  other  things. 
What  would  you  consider  the  things  that  are  really 
worth  while,  Mr.  Vernon  ?  " 

Ashe  was  perfectly  aware,  that  quite  delightfully 
and  gracefully  she  was  leading  up  to  several  sugar- 
coated  questions  which  would  be  put  with  such  skill 
that  he  might  find  them  hard  to  evade.  These,  baldly, 
were :  Where  did  you  meet  Martina  ?  How  long  have 
you  known  her?  How  do  you  and  she  happen  to 
be  on  such  intimate  terms  that  she  has  persuaded  you 
to  lengthen  out  an  afternoon  call  to  take  in  dinner? 
Why  has  she  never  spoken  of  you?  Who  are  you, 
anyway,  and  what  is  your  business  in  life? 

Another  thing  that  amused  him  intense^  was  that 
opposite  him,  and  a  little  farther  along  the  table,  sat 
Mr.  Samuel  Cruger,  and  the  poor  gentleman  was  not 
an  adept  in  concealing  his  feelings.  He  was  an  ami- 


106  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

iable,  good-natured  little  man;  but  in  meeting  a 
stranger  with  the  disconcerting  name  of  Vernon,  he 
had  received  a  shock  which  he  felt  might  permanently 
impair  his  digestion. 

It  was  only  a  day  or  two  since,  that  William  White- 
field  had  told  him  of  Muriel's  mysterious  visitor  the 
night  of  the  robbery.  He  had  detailed  the  suspicious 
circumstances  that  surrounded  the  man's  leave-taking, 
and  wound  up  by  asking  Samuel  to  bear  in  mind  and 
immediately  collect  any  facts  he  could  about  any  person 
he  met  or  heard  of  by  the  name  of  Vernon.  He 
stated  that  he,  Whitefield,  had  already  instructed  the 
police  to  give  him  a  report  upon  any  Vernons  they 
could  round  up. 

Surely  it  was  hard,  "  Tubby  "  considered,  that  when 
he  had  temporarily  cast  off  his  perplexities  about  his 
ward,  Muriel,  his  old  friend,  Martina  Vansittart, 
should  have  taken  the  opportunity  to  introduce  a 
Vernon  —  and  a  Vernon  with  a  long,  hideous  scar, 
which,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  remembered  only  too 
well. 

He  sat  there  at  the  table,  so  different  from  his  usual 
cheerful,  chatty  self,  that  it  would  have  been  notice- 
able if  every  one  else  had  not  been  in  an  especially 
gay  and  loquacious  mood.  It  seemed  impossible  for 
him  to  take  his  eyes  from  the  scar  and  its  possessor. 
He  did  not  doubt  that  this  was  the  man  for  whom 
William  was  combing  the  city,  and  he  was  almost 
equally  certain  that  it  \vas  Fletcher  Hempstead. 

True,  this  Vernon  did  not  particularly  resemble 
Fletcher,  as  he  remembered  him;  but  then  Fletcher 
was  only  a  boy  of  seventeen  when  he  had  gone  away. 
By  Jove,  he  must  be  forty  now  —  just  about  the  age 
of  this  Vernon  person? 


'    THE  HORNET'S  NEST  107 

He  stole  another  furtive  glance.  The  man  certainly 
did  not  have  any  of  the  earmarks  of  the  White- 
field  ;  but  wasn't  there  —  yes,  he  was  sure  there  was 
—  a  sort  of  a  Hempstead  look  about  him  ?  Again  he 
suppressed  a  groan.  He  knew  Fletcher  of  old.  There 
was  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world,  that  ever  could 
stop  him  when  he  took  the  bit  in  his  teeth  ?  He  feared 
neither  God,  man,  nor  devil.  And  "  Tubby  "  had  not 
the  least  doubt  that  Fletcher  had  returned,  and  was 
about  to  strike  at  Whitefield  and  himself  through 
Muriel  in  some  diabolical,  humiliating,  and  probably 
public  manner. 

He  attempted  diplomacy.  "  Is  Mr.  —  er  —  Vernon 
a  New  Yorker?  He  talks  like  a  Frenchman,"  he  said 
to  Mrs.  Vansittart. 

"  Really,  I  am  not  sure,"  she  returned  vaguely. 

"  Odd  scar !  Horrible  to  be  disfigured  like  that, 
horrible.  Was  it  the  result  of  an  accident  ?  " 

But  before  she  could  answer,  a  woman  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table  inquired  eagerly: 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cruger,  is  there  any  fresh  news  about  the 
Whitefield  robbery?  Have  they  recovered  the  jewels, 
or  any  of  the  stolen  things?" 

"  I  believe  not,"  he  said ;  and  then  added  in  a  tone 
which  was  meant  to  have  a  peculiarly  menacing  sig- 
nificance for  Vernon:  "But  that's  only  a  matter  of 
a  short  time.  The  police  have  very  definite  informa- 
tion in  regard  to  the  crooks.  They're  in  a  net,  al- 
though they  do  not  suspect  it,  and  it  will  be  practi- 
cally impossible  for  them  to  escape  now." 

The  whole  table  had  paused  to  listen,  and,  "  How 
interesting!  Wonderful  how  they  manage  those 
things ! "  was  breathed  about  it. 

"  Will  Mrs.  Whitefield  be  well  enough  to  appear  at 


108  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

the  coming-out  dance  for  that  pretty  Muriel  Fletcher?  " 
queried  a  thin  woman  on  the  other  side  of  Colvin. 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  "Tubby."  "She  is  getting 
over  the  shock  of  the  robbery  very  nicely." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  murmured  the  thin  woman, 
speaking  across  Colvin  to  Estelle.  "  She'll  side-step 
it  somehow.  No  contrasts  of  passe  beauty  and  radiant 
youth  for  her." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  be  recovering  nicely,"  returned 
Estelle,  "  losing  all  those  perfectly  good  rings." 
She  turned  to  Ashe.  "  You  have  been  in  town 
since  the  Whitefield  robbery,  haven't  you,  Mr.  Ver- 
non?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied.  "  I've  read  the  accounts  of 
it  with  deep  interest." 

"  So  did  every  one  else,"  said  the  thin  woman. 
"  Half  the  women  one  knows  were  hoping  against 
hope  that  Freda's  sapphires  or  pearls  might  have  been 
taken,  but,"  she  shrugged  her  sharp  shoulder  bones, 
"  no  such  luck." 

"  They  do  say,"  she  continued  in  a  lower  voice, 
"  that  she's  terribly  broken  up  over  what  was  taken, 
and  that  Ollie  Darnton  had  been  kept  busy  drying  her 
tears.  I  saw  her  yesterday,  and  truly  she  looked  a 
wreck." 

"  Lucky  Ollie ! "  sighed  a  man  in  her  ear,  sinking 
his  voice  so  that  Ashe  barely  heard  it.  "  Freda's  the 
only  woman  left  with  whom  it's  the  least  bit  exciting  to 
flirt.  She  makes  you  think  it's  such  a  deadly  sin, 
and  that  you're  one  of  those  melodramatic  villains  who 
spend  all  their  time  making  assaults  on  impregnable 
virtue.  Awfully  flattering." 

"  Mr.  Vernon,"  called  Mrs.  Vansittart  down  the 
table,  "  if  Estelle's  lisping  any  nonsense  into  your  ear 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  109 

about  my  being  her  older  sister,  don't  believe  it.  She's 
my  senior  by  a  good  two  years." 

"  More  shame  to  you,"  returned  Estelle.  "  I  don't 
let  any  old-age  microbes  bite  me.  I'm  no  nice,  dim, 
old  family  portrait  hung  on  the  walls  and  forgotten. 
I'm  a  motion  picture." 

"  No  answer  to  that."  Martina  nodded,  and  they 
rose  from  the  table. 

But  scarcely  had  they  reached  the  drawing-room, 
when  Mr.  Cruger  pleaded  illness,  and  left.  The  others 
also  soon  took  their  leave  to  meet  various  engagements. 
Estelle  made  no  effort  to  conceal  her  surprise  that 
Vernon  stayed  on. 

Martina  laughed  outright.  "I  win!"  she  cried. 
"  Essie,  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  you  don't 
know  Mr.  Vernon?" 

Her  sister  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  bewilder- 
ment, and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  extremely  stupid,  if  I  ought  to 
know  Mr.  Vernon;  but  I  do  not.  And  yet,  there  is 
a  something,  a  sort  of  familiarity  which  has  bothered 
me  all  evening." 

"  Oh,  Essie,  Essie ! "  Martina  was  unable  to  bottle 
up  her  secret  any  longer.  "  It's  Ashe  come  back 
again ! " 

Estelle,  although  not  so  demonstrative  as  her  sister, 
was  equally  excited  and  happy;  and  Colvin  felt  like 
an  undeserving  prodigal,  when  he  recalled  his  years 
of  silence,  the  anxiety  he  must  have  caused  these  two 
kind  women.  And  yet  it  was  delightful  to  bask  in 
the  warmth  of  their  welcome. 

They  sat  late,  talking.  There  were  a  thousand  ques- 
tions to  be  answered,  a  thousand  explanations  to  be 
made.  At  last,  Colvin  said  good-by. 


i  io  THE  HORNET'S  XEST 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  room,  he  stopped,  smiled 
in  an  odd  way,  and  then  walked  over  to  the  window, 
and  cautiously  lifting  the  side  of  the  shade,  peered 
out. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  beckoning  his  aunts  to  apply 
an  eye  in  turn  to  the  peephole. 

What  they  saw  was  a  man  leaning  against  a  tree 
box  across  the  way,  and  unmistakably  watching  the 
house. 

"  But  Ashe ! "  the  aunts  drew  back  in  alarm. 
"  What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  It  means  that  '  Tubby '  has  wasted  no  time  in 
communicating  with  \Vhitefield,  and  Whitefield  has 
put  a  man  —  probably  a  small  regiment  of  men  —  at 
the  job  of  shadowing  me.  Farewell,  my  privacy!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  Mr.  Samuel  Cruger  tottered  down  the  steps 
of  the  Gansevoort  house,  he  flapped  a  limp  hand  at 
the  first  passing  taxicab,  and  stumbling  into  the  safe 
port  of  its  cushions,  gave  to  the  driver  in  a  voice  which 
was  a  mere  asthmatic  whisper  the  number  of  the 
Whitefield  residence. 

He  was  in  a  state  of  psychic  befuddlement  where  he 
was  unable  to  distinguish  between  mental  and  physical 
sensation.  As  he  rolled  along,  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
brow,  and  groaned.  He  also  felt  his  pulse.  The  beat, 
it  struck  him,  was  very  rapid  and  uneven.  He  choked 
up  with  an  intense  irritation,  even  indignation  against 
his  old  friend,  Mrs.  Vansittart.  It  seemed  to  him 
like  deliberate  malice  on  her  part  to  have  asked  him 
to  meet  a  man  with  the  name  of  Vernon  and  Fletcher 
Hempstead's  scar  across  his  face. 

Mr.  Cruger's  aim  throughout  existence  had  been  to 
keep  his  feet  on  the  uncomplicated  path.  He  had  no 
adventurous  longing  to  explore  the  entangling  thickets, 
and  so  far  he  had  been  able  to  enact  admirably  the 
role  of  the  cheerful,  amiable  onlooker.  Yet  now,  sud- 
denly he  found  himself  hurled  —  pitchforked,  one 
might  say  —  into  the  midst  of  a  thorny,  briar-strewn 
maze  from  which  he  would  have  given  much  to  keep 
clear.  So  he  sat  in  the  cab,  quivering  with  the  same 
resentment,  the  same  moral  indignation  one  feels  when 


H2  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

a  fire,  or  an  earthquake,  or  a  cyclone  devastates  the 
locality  one  has  chosen  because  of  its  promised  im- 
munity from  such  cataclysms.  He  regarded  it  as 
monstrous  that  things  which  simply  did  not  happen 
to  persons  so  environed  by  ease  and  respectability  as 
himself  should  actually  have  come  to  pass. 

But  the  cab  having  stopped  before  the  Whitefield 
door,  he  roused  himself  from  his  disturbed  medita- 
tions, descended  heavily,  paid  the  man,  and  entered 
the  house. 

Dempsey  admitted  him  with  a  chastened  smile. 
Dempsey's  bearing,  always  dignified  and  imposing,  was 
now  noticeably  subdued.  Much  cross-examination 
had  left  him  the  impersonation  of  injured  innocence. 
"  Tubby  "  learned  from  him  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Whitefield  were  at  home,  and  took  his  way  to  the 
library.  There  Mr.  Whitefield  sat  smoking  in  a  large 
easy-chair,  surrounded  by  a  white,  billowing  sea  of 
evening  papers. 

Freda,  her  chaise-longue  drawn  near  the  fire,  her 
toy  dog  "Elf"  on  her  knee,  was  languidly  knitting; 
she  had  cancelled  all  her  engagements  since  the  rob- 
bery. Indeed,  the  shock  had  affected  her  health  so 
greatly  that  her  doctor  had  ordered  an  immediate 
change  of  air  and  scene,  but  she  had  thus  far  refused 
to  obey  his  orders,  and  had  obstinately  remained  in 
town.  She  smiled  faintly  at  her  husband's  cousin  as 
he  entered,  and  then  began  to  count  her  stitches  again. 

Whitefield  looked  at  the  visitor  over  the  top  of  his 
glasses  with  a  touch  of  surprise. 

"  Hello,  Sammy."  He  rose  slowly,  shaking  the 
ashes  from  his  coat  as  he  did  so.  "  What's  up  now? 
Must  be  something  doing  to  bring  you  around  at  this 
time  of  night?" 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  113 

Cruger  sank  down  into  a  chair,  and  breathed  heav- 
ily. He  waved  away  the  cigar  that  Whitefield  of- 
fered, and  shook  his  head  once  or  twice. 

"  I  guess  I've  found  your  fellow,  Vernon,"  he  said. 
"  The  most  annoying,  upsetting  thing  that  ever  hap- 
pened to  me." 

Freda's  needles  clashed  together.  Whitefield's  hand 
let  go  of  the  newspaper  he  had  been  holding. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  He  took  a  quick  step 
forward. 

"  I  mean  this."  "  Tubby's  "  resentment  was  miti- 
gated for  the  moment  by  a  certain  sense  of  import- 
ance. "  I  dined  at  Martina  Vansittart's  this  evening. 
She  had  about  eight  people  there.  One  of  them  was 
this  Vernon." 

"At  Martina  Vansittart's?"  Whitefield's  darting 
eyes  were  alive  with  interest.  "  What  kind  of  a  fel- 
low was  he?  All  right?  A  —  a  gentleman?" 

"  Martina  and  Estelle  Gansevoort  wouldn't  be  likely 
to  have  any  other  sort,  would  they?"  The  tartness 
of  Cousin  Sammy's  answer  showed  how  greatly  his 
nerves  were  upon  edge.  "  I  thought  at  first  he  was 
a  foreigner.  .  .  .  Something  foreign  about  him." 
He  frowned  as  if  trying  to  recall  just  what. 

"  Foreign,  eh?  "  Whitefield  gave  this  phase  of  the 
matter  momentary  but  interested  consideration. 
"  But,"  testily,  "  what  did  he  look  like,  man?  That's 
what  I  want  to  get  at.  How  did  he  appear?" 

"  William,"  Mr.  Cruger's  voice  sank  almost  to  a 
whisper,  his  round,  pale  eyes  were  full  of  a  frightened 
meaning,  "  this  man  was  about  forty  years  old,  with 
very  dark  hair,  black  I  think,  and  quite  gray  at  the 
sides.  He  wore  eyeglasses,  and " —  he  paused  to 
draw  a  line  with  his  forefinger  across  his  right  cheek 


ii4  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

from  the  corner  of  his  eye  to  his  mouth — "he  had  a 
deep  scar  right  here." 

Whitefield  stared  back  at  him  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second.  "  Where  did  you  leave  him  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"There  at  the  Gansevoorts.     Why?" 

But  Whitefield  was  already  across  the  room  at  a 
telephone  in  an  alcove,  and  was  calling  the  number 
of  a  detective  agency.  When  he  got  it,  he  gave  in- 
structions that  two  men  be  sent  at  once  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Mrs.  Vansittart's  to  watch  for  a  tall  man 
with  a  scar  across  his  face,  and  if  he  came  out,  to 
shadow  him  at  any  hazard. 

As  he  spoke  to  the  agency,  Freda  had  started  up 
with  some  show  of  agitation  as  if  to  protest,  but 
realizing  no  doubt  the  futility  of  any  interference, 
subsided  once  more  into  her  seat,  clutching  the  little 
dog  so  tightly  that  it  whimpered  in  reproach.  Her 
knitting  lay  unheeded  where  it  had  fallen  to  the  floor. 

"  Case  of  locking  the  stable  door  after  the  horse 
is  gone,  I  suppose,"  grumbled  \Vhitefield,  returning 
from  the  telephone.  "  He  probably  got  out  about  the 
same  time  that  you  did.  My  Lord,  Sammy,  why 
didn't  you  have  sense  enough  to  let  me  know  sooner? 
Why  did  you  not  call  me  up  the  minute  you  left  the 
house?" 

"  Taken  me  as  long  to  find  a  telephone  booth  as 
to  drive  directly  here,"  returned  his  cousin  pettishly. 

"  Umph !  "  Whitefield  let  it  go  at  that,  and  took 
a  turn  or  two  across  the  room.  Presently  he  ex- 
ploded the  silence  with  a  "  Damn !  "  Then  he  began 
to  talk  again.  He  liked  to  do  his  thinking  aloud. 
He  knew  it  was  a  dangerous  habit,  but  it  helped  him 
to  get  his  ideas  straight. 

"  Of  course  there's  a  chance  that  he  may  still  be 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  115 

there,"  he  pondered;  "and  if  he  is,  my  men  will  be 
able  to  get  a  certain  line  on  him  —  what  he  does,  and 
where  he  lives,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

His  face  brightened  for  a  moment  at  this  sugges- 
tion; but  as  his  thoughts  roved  on,  it  settled  again 
into  deep  lines.  He  leaned  across  the  back  of  his 
chair,  and  stared  at  the  fire. 

"H'm-m!  That  scar!"  He  was  still  thinking 
aloud.  "  Dempsey  didn't  say  anything  about  a  scar. 
.  .  .  But  then  Dempsey's  a  muttonhead.  Wouldn't 
be  a  butler,  if  he  wasn't,  I  suppose.  .  .  .  Well,  unless 
all  signs  fail,  one  thing  looks  sure,  anyhow:  Fletcher 
is  both  Vernon  and  *  The  Hornet. '  .  .  .  Crook,  eh?  " 
His  mouth  twisted  to  one  side.  "  One  of  the  big 
ones,  too.  .  .  .  That  is,  if  he  is  really  this  '  Hornet ' 
those  fellows  from  Headquarters  are  always  talking 
about,  and  I  dare  say  he  is.  ...  Still,  anybody  might 
have  known  he'd  turn  out  like  that.  I  never  did  be- 
lieve that  he  was  dead.  Too  devilish.  Only  the  good 
die  young.  .  .  .  But  how  in  Sam  Hill  did  he  ever 
break  in  at  Martina  Vansittart's  ?  " 

He  pushed  out  his  heavy  lower  lip,  and  pulled  at 
it  reflectively.  Then  he  lifted  his  head,  a  flash  of 
excitement  in  his  eyes. 

"  Look  here,  Freda ;  wasn't  Ashe  Colvin  some  rela- 
tion of  the  Gansevoorts  ?  " 

Her  head  was  turned  away  from  him.  She  lifted 
the  dog  from  her  lap,  and  put  it  carefully  down  on 
the  floor  before  she  answered. 

"  Mrs.  Vansittart  and  Miss  Estelle  were  his  aunts," 
she  said. 

"  Ha ! "  Whitefield  clenched  his  fist  down  on  the 
back  of  the  chair.  "  Plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face 
now.  There's  a  deal  on  between — "  But  just  then 


n6  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

he  caught  a  glimse  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  of 
Cousin  Sammy's  gaze  fixed  on  him  with  an  expression 
at  once  puzzled,  curious,  and  apprehensive,  and  he 
caught  himself  up  short. 

"  Sammy,  you  don't  look  right,"  he  exclaimed,  eye- 
ing his  cousin  solicitously.  "  Sure  you're  well  ?  " 

Cruger's  attention  immediately  reverted  to  himself. 
"  I  am  very  far  from  well,"  he  said,  with  an  injured 
expression  and  a  failing  voice,  his  fingers  again  on  his 
pulse. 

"  You  ought  to  go  home,  and  get  to  bed,"  Whitefield 
gave  him  a  pat  on  the  shoulder,  which  was  at  the  same 
time  a  boost  helping  to  assist  him  to  his  feet.  "  Put 
a  mustard  plaster  on  your  head,  and  take  a  sedative  or 
something.  Don't  let  this  affair  upset  you,"  in  his 
usual  hearty  tone.  "  Nothing  to  it." 

"Tubby"  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "If  it  is 
Fletcher  come  back  under  a  false  name,  there's  sure 
to  be  a  scandal,"  he  bleated. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  Whitefield's  voice  rang  with 
a  spurious  assurance.  "  You  trot  along,  and  get  that 
mustard  plaster  as  I  tell  you.  Leave  me  to  manage 
Fletcher.  I  can  do  it."  He  nodded  emphatically  once 
or  twice. 

"  I  hope  so.  I  shouldn't  wish  to  be  asked  to  cope 
with  Fletcher."  "Tubby"  shuddered.  Then,  shak- 
ing his  head,  and  trailing  his  feet,  he  made  a  gloomy 
exit. 

Whitefield  walked  over,  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him.  "  I  forgot  that  little  nut  was  sitting  there,"  he 
muttered  apologetically.  "  But,  as  I  say,  it  is  plain 
as  the  nose  on  one's  face  how  the  land  lies.  Plot  be- 
tween Fletcher  and  Colvin.  They're  probably  pals. 
Both  born  crooks,  and  they  just  naturally  drifted  to- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  117 

gether.  .  .  .  Some  class,  Fletcher.  It  was  he  of 
course  who  broke  into  the  safe,  and  got  his  own  forged 
check  and  the  Colvin  papers.  That  much  looks  sure.'' 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  frowning,  concentrated, 
and  began  to  run  his  unending  scales. 

"  Yes;  I  guess  Fletcher  is  Vernon  all  right,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  pause.  "The  scar  proves  that.  .  .  . 
And  he's  after  Muriel.  .  .  .  Why?  Probably  wants 
her  to  join  with  him  in  some  action  over  their  prop- 
erty rights.  .  .  .  Yes,  sir;  that's  Fletcher's  game.  I 
can  see  that  easy  enough.  .  .  .  But  Colvin's  game? 
H'm-m.  That's  not  quite  so  clear."  He  squinted  at 
the  fire,  and  his  lips  shut  slowly  like  a  trap.  "If  we 
catch  Fletcher,  though,  and  can  put  the  screws  to  him 
hard  enough,  perhaps  he'll  tell.  By  God,  he's  got  to 
tell!" 

Freda  turned  about  in  her  chair.  The  blue  shadows 
lay  darker  under  her  eyes;  there  was  a  drawn  look 
about  her  mouth. 

"  But  are  there  not  some  things  that  you  have  failed 
to  take  into  account  ?  "  she  said.  "  Rather  important 
things,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  the  fact  of  Fletcher's  appearing  openly  this 
way,  when  he  must  know  that  the  police  are  scouring 
the  town  for  him.  That  doesn't  look  very  much  as 
if  he  were  afraid  of  being  arrested,  or  of  anything 
else.  Oh !  "  She  pushed  back  the  hair  from  her  brow 
with  hands  which  trembled.  "  The  whole  thing  seems 
to  get  more  terribly  complicated  every  minute.  How 
can  you  have  him  arrested  under  the  circumstances  — 
a  robbery  and  a  murder  ?  Your  own  nephew,  William ! 
Think  of  the  scandal." 

"  Who     said     anything    about    arresting    him  ? " 


ii8  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Whitefield  gave  an  impatient  movement.  "  You  no- 
tice I  sicked  an  agency  on  to  him,  not  the  police.  All 
I  want  is  to  get  him  properly  cornered,  and  make  him 
come  across  with  those  papers  and  what  information 
he's  got.  Then  we  can  arrange  to  hush  the  business 
up,  and  get  him  quietly  out  of  the  country. 

"  You  have  managed  to  hit  on  a  rather  vital  point, 
though,"  he  granted,  with  a  scowl.  "  It's  not  going 
to  be  so  easy  throwing  a  scare  into  him.  As  you  say, 
he's  fairly  courting  an  arrest,  and  therefore  he  must 
have  all  his  plans  laid,  and  be  ready  to  meet  any 
emergency." 

He  stopped  to  consider  this  phase  of  the  question 
a  moment,  then  went  on. 

"  Of  course,  he  may  be  counting  on  the  side  of 
it  that  you've  just  brought  up — family  pride,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  he  knows  I  wouldn't  let 
that  interfere  with  me  too  far.  No ;  he  has  something 
stronger  than  that  up  his  sleeve.  A  fire-proof  alibi, 
maybe.  Anyhow,  he's  plainly  not  afraid."  He  drew 
in  a  deep  breath.  "  And  that  puts  me  up  a  blind 
alley  again. 

"  Oh,  if  I  only  actually  had  the  goods  on  him,"  he 
broke  out  irritably,  a  second  later.  "  All  that  Dempsey 
can  say  is  that  he  didn't  see  Vernon  leave  by  the  front 
door,  but  the  idiot  admits  that  he  left  the  hall  twice 
for  five  minutes  at  a  time.  Had  the  impression  each 
time  he  came  back  that  Vernon  was  still  in  the  library. 
Can't  swear  to  it,  though.  And  Muriel  —  well,  you 
know  her.  If  you'd  pull  her  teeth  out  one  by  one, 
she'd  probably  stick  closer  to  her  story  than  a  fly  to 
fly-paper." 

"  Oh,  Muriel !  "  The  exclamation  was  full  of  bit- 
terness. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  119 

Whitefield,  however,  had  reverted  to  an  earlier  train 
of  thought. 

"  Still,  the  matter  might  be  handled  in  another  way," 
he  murmured.  "  Fletcher  alone  wouldn't  be  difficult 
to  deal  with,  I  don't  believe.  Pay  him  all  that's  com- 
ing to  him  for  the  last  twenty  years,  with  a  reasonable 
amount  on  top  of  it  for  blackmail,  and  turn  over  his 
estate  into  his  own  hands,  and  he'd  probably  come  into 
camp. 

"  Sounds  simple,  doesn't  it  ?  "  His  laugh  had  little 
mirth  in  it.  "  Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  may  have 
to  call  on  you  for  those  sapphires  and  pearls  of  yours. 
They're  good  for  almost  a  million  any  time. 

"  Oh,  what  on  earth's  the  use  of  your  taking  it  like 
that  ?  "  as  Freda  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  shiv- 
ered as  if  in  a  nervous  chill.  "Good  gracious!  I 
don't  know  what's  come  over  you  lately.  You  used 
to  have  some  nerve.  Can't  that  doctor  of  yours  do 
something  for  you?  What's  he  good  for,  anyway?" 

"  I  am  all  right."  She  sat  up  resolutely.  "  Go  on. 
You  were  saying  that  Fletcher  alone  might  be  dealt 
with,  but  that  —  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  looks  now  as  if  I  also  had  Ashe  Colvin 
to  consider,  and  that's  different.  How  deeply  are  they 
tied  up  together?  Everything  depends  upon  that. 
However,  there's  one  good  thing  about  it ;  they're  not 
going  to  start  anything  in  a  hurry." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Look  at  the  way  they  have  set  their  stage,"  he 
said.  "  You  don't  suppose  Fletcher,  or  Vernon,  as  he 
chooses  to  call  himself,  is  breaking  into  society,  and 
seeking  Muriel,  and  all  that,  without  some  very  definite 
object  in  view.  It's  a  campaign  they're  starting,  I 
tell  you,  and  a  campaign  takes  time,  Just  what  end 


120  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

they  are  aiming  at,  I  can  not  say  now;  but  this  I  do 
know,  they  are  not  ready  yet  to  play  trumps." 

But  she  was  not  in  the  mood  to  gather  comfort  or 
reassurance  from  anything  he  might  say. 

"  They  will  never  rest,  they  will  never  rest  until 
they  crush  us."  The  words  came  from  her  dry  lips 
in  a  frightened  whisper.  "  They  are  both  so  horribly 
clever.  And  they  mean  to  get  even  with  us." 

Her  husband  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  stood  on 
the  hearth-rug.  He  loomed  there,  powerful  of  phy- 
sique, wary  and  cunning  of  brain,  all  his  foxlike  facul- 
ties keen  and  sharp  as  the  steel  of  a  tempered  dagger 
blade. 

"  You  do  not  suppose  I'm  sitting  idly  by,  waiting 
for  them  to  finish  me,  do  you  ?  "  He  gave  a  short 
laugh.  "  There  have  been  a  good  many  men  trying 
to  crush  me  for  a  good  many  years.  Pretty  clever, 
a  lot  of  them,  too.  But  I  am  not  finished  yet."  He 
took  out  his  watch,  and  began  to  wind  it  up.  "  No, 
nor  likely  to  be,"  he  added.  "  H'm-m.  I'm  going  to 
bed." 

Mr.  Whitefield  had  the  Napoleonic  ability  to  sleep 
at  will.  Therein  lay  the  great  source  of  his  undi- 
minished  mental  vigor  and  clearness.  While  his  wife 
tossed  that  night  upon  her  sleepless  pillow,  rising  now 
and  again  to  walk  the  floor,  until  with  haggard  eyes  she 
watched  one  of  earth's  dreariest  sights,  the  cold,  gray 
dawn  breaking  over  the  disconsolate  world,  he  slept 
the  deep,  refreshing  sleep  of  one  whose  digestion  is 
above  rubies. 

When  he  awoke,  and  had  eaten  his  usual  excellent 
breakfast  with  his  usual  excellent  appetite,  and  had 
read  the  morning  papers,  he  summoned  his  secretary. 

In  one  way,  Everett  Babcock  was  wasted  on  his 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  121 

present  employer.  Only  the  really  irritable  and  worry- 
haunted  millionaire  could  have  fully  appreciated  him. 
His  personality,  or  lack  of  it,  was  like  cold  cream, 
cooling  and  soothing  to  fevered  and  abraided  mental 
surfaces.  A  well-oiled  piece  of  human  machinery  in 
good  running  gear,  he  inflicted  no  wear  or  tear  what- 
ever upon  the  nerves. 

As  usual,  his  response  to  Mr.  Whitefield's  ring  was 
immediate.  He  entered,  noiseless,  efficient,  and  in- 
conspicuous, and  laid  his  employer's  correspondence, 
opened  and  unopened,  in  neat  piles  before  him. 

Whitefield  absorbed  himself  in  them.  When  he  had 
finished,  Babcock  spoke. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Whitefield,  I  heard  something 
yesterday  which  might  be  of  interest  to  you." 

"All  right.  Go  ahead,"  returned  Whitefield  ab- 
sently, his  eyes  still  on  a  letter  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  A  fellow  who  knows  her  well  by  sight  told  me 
that  he  saw  Miss  Fletcher  taking  tea  at  Sherry's  last 
Friday  afternoon  with  a  man  he  didn't  know." 

Whitefield  looked  up  suddenly.  "  Why  didn't  the 
detective  I  told  you  to  hire  report  it  then  ? "  he 
growled. 

"  Very  true,  sir."  Babcock  permitted  himself  the 
faintest  of  smiles.  "  I  investigated  that,  and  found 
that  she  gave  him  the  slip,  fooled  him  at  her  dress- 
maker's. He  thought  she  was  having  a  gown  tried 
on,  but  she  slipped  out  by  another  door.  He  kept  it 
dark." 

"  Capable  agents  you  employ."  Whitefield's  face 
darkened.  "  I  placed  this  matter  in  your  hands,  Bab- 
cock, and  I  expect  you  to  put  it  through  properly. 
Discharge  that  fellow,  and  get  another  —  two  of  them, 
if  one  can  not  attend  to  the  job." 


122  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  I  have,  sir,"  returned  Everett.     "  And  now  — " 

But  before  he  could  speak  further,  the  telephone 
rang  sharply,  and  he  hastened  to  answer  it.  He  lis- 
tened a  moment,  the  receiver  at  his  ear,  and  then 
his  perfunctory  attention  became  suddenly  alert. 

"  It's  3100  Spring  calling,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Police 
Headquarters,  you  know ;  the  Detective  Bureau.  They 
say  they  have  discovered  that  a  man  answering  the 
description  of  the  '  Hornet,'  and  passing  under  the 
name  of  Vernon  is  living  at  the  Hotel  Marmontel. 
The  Inspector  has  already  started  up  there  to  have 
a  talk  with  him.  They  thought  you  might  like  to 
know." 

Whitefield  hesitated,  frowning  down  at  the  polished 
surface  of  the  table.  Then  he  nodded. 

"Thank  them/'  he  said  briefly;  and  after  a  pause: 
"Why  not?  It  is  what  he  would  be  expecting,  and 
maybe  it'll  help  us  to  get  a  line  on  him.  Everett," 
glancing  over  toward  the  secretary,  "  I  wish  you  would 
ask  Mrs.  Whitefield  to  come  here  a  moment." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

Whitefield  was  still  deep  in  a  brown  study  when 
Babcock  returned. 

"Mrs.  Whitefield  is  out,  eh?"  he  repeated  the  sec- 
retary's report.  "  And  she  did  not  leave  word  where 
she  was  going,  nor  when  she  would  be  back?  All 
right,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  "  it's  of  no  pressing 
importance.  Maybe,  she  will  come  in  before  I  start 
down-town.  I  think  I  will  wait  a  bit  to  hear  from  the 
Inspector." 

"  Then  you  will  see  Miss  Fletcher,  I  suppose,  sir. 
I  met  her  in  the  hall  just  now,  and  she  told  me  she'd 
like  to  have  a  few  minutes'  talk  with  you,  if  pos- 
sible." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  123 

"  Muriel  ?  "  Whitefield's  wandering  attention  f o- 
cussed  in  an  instant.  "What  does  she  want?" 

"  She  did  not  say,  sir."  The  tone  indicated  also 
that  the  secretary  regarded  it  futile  to  ask.  Muriel 
was  not  one  to  trust  her  business  to  an  intermedi- 
ary. 

"  Very  well,"  drumming  a  moment  or  t\vo  with  his 
finger  tips  upon  the  table.  "  Tell  her  to  come  in. 
But  first,  take  this  letter  for  me,  will  you,  Babcock." 
He  dictated  a  rather  lengthy  and  careful  answer  to 
an  entirely  inconsequential  inquiry  which  had  come 
in  the  mail  —  something  which  could  have  been  put 
aside  for  a  week,  and  covered  satisfactorily  in  a  single 
paragraph. 

Consequently,  it  was  fully  fifteen  minutes  before 
Babcock  went  out  to  tell  the  waiting  girl  that  her 
uncle  was  ready  to  see  her. 

She  had  just  returned  from  her  ride,  and  was  still 
in  her  skirted  coat  and  breeches,  tapping  her  crop  im- 
patiently against  her  boot  as  she  stood  in  the  hall. 
The  sharp,  autumn  air  of  the  Park,  aided  perhaps  by 
some  rise  of  temper  at  the  delay  she  had  encountered, 
had  whipped  her  cheeks  to  a  deep  carnation  glow,  and 
her  lips  to  a  more  vivid  red.  But  if  Whitefield  had 
hoped  to  get  her  at  a  disadvantage  by  his  tactics,  he  was 
destined  to  be  disappointed.  There  was  something  so 
vital,  so  gay,  so  youthful  about  her,  that  even  he,  her 
supreme  antagonist,  was  moved  to  a  sort  of  imper- 
sonal pride  and  admiration.  The  gorgeous  Whitefield 
looks  were  there,  and,  by  the  Lord,  the  spirit  and 
deviltry,  too  —  the  Whitefield  spirit  that  nothing  could 
bend,  nor  break. 

"  My  word,  Muriel ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  You're 
some  looker  this  morning." 


124  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

She  struck  an  attitude.  "  Little  old  prize-beauty, 
Me !  "  she  said. 

But  she  hadn't  come  to  discuss  the  abstract  question 
of  her  appearance.  She  went  straight  to  the  point 
with  her  customary  abruptness  and  certainty. 

"  I  say,  Uncle  William,  I  want  you  to  see  that  Mr. 
Vernon  is  invited  to  the  dance." 

He  gasped.  There  was  no  limit  to  her  nerve. 
His  teeth  showed  with  a  wolfish  unpleasantness  in  the 
smile  he  bestowed  upon  her.  Then,  as  he  gave  a  sec- 
ond thought  to  her  request,  his  expression  changed 
and  became  more  complaisant.  Ever  since  Cruger's 
visit  of  the  night  before,  his  desire  to  see  this  so- 
called  Vernon  person  with  his  own  eyes  had  steadily 
increased.  He  felt  sure  that  if  it  were  really  Fletcher, 
he  would  know  him.  Cruger's  opinion  counted  little 
or  nothing  with  him.  Sammy  was  such  a  quaking 
custard  of  a  coward,  and  such  an  unobservant  ass  as 
well,  that  his  views  didn't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins, 
one  way  or  the  other. 

"  H'm-m."  He  didn't  give  her  an  answer  at  once. 
"Been  riding  with  him  this  morning?" 

"  Yes,"  she  assented  lightly,  almost  casually.  But 
her  eyes  met  his  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  and  steel 
clashed  against  steel. 

A  sudden,  violent  anger  shook  Whitefield.  It  took 
all  his  self-control  to  repress  the  words  that  rose  to 
his  lips.  "  What's  the  game  —  yours  and  his?  Why 
the  devil  don't  you  make  some  move?"  That  was 
what  he  wanted  to  say.  To  think  that  he,  Whitefield, 
standing  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  whose  depths  he 
did  not  dare  consider,  should  be  baffled  and  outwitted 
by  this  vicious  girl.  All  his  astuteness,  his  long- 
headed diplomacy,  his  wary  resourcefulness,  crumpled 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  125 

against  her  stubborn  resistance  like  so  many  blades  of 
lead. 

Of  course,  she  was  only  Fletcher's  instrument,  but 
she  was  a  mighty  good  one  —  for  Fletcher.  He  wanted 
to  shake  her,  to  throw  her  against  the  wall,  to  choke 
the  truth  out  of  her  with  his  thick,  strong  fingers. 

But  he  gradually  composed  himself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  even  if  she  had  resisted  him  so  far,  there 
were  several  different  kinds  of  pressure  which  still 
might  be  brought  to  bear  upon  her. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  smiling  upon  her  as  a  fox  might 
smile  upon  a  plump  young  pullet,  "  that  considering 
it's  your  own  party,  we'll  have  to  humor  you  in  this; 
so  I'll  tell  Freda  to  see  that  an  invitation  is  sent  to 
your  friend  of  the  streets.  I'll  have  to  place  a  guard 
at  my  study  door  that  night,  I  suppose;  Mr.  Vernon 
might  be  unduly  interested  in  the  new  combination 
I've  had  put  on  the  safe.  Also,  I  will  have  a  detec- 
tive follow  Freda  about  pretty  closely.  She'll  prob- 
ably be  wearing  either  her  sapphires  or  her  pearls." 

"Why  not  use  the  one  you  had  following  me?" 
Muriel  replied  imperturbably ;  and  then  with  open  in- 
solence. "  She  probably  needs  a  detective  considerably 
more  than  I  do." 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  early  that  morning  that  Colvin  and  Muriel 
had  taken  their  ride  together  —  the  laggard  sun  was 
just  rising  above  the  trees.  But  early  as  it  was, 
Colvin  was  waiting  at  the  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  Fifth 
Avenue  entrance  to  the  Park  at  least  twenty  minutes 
before  Muriel  came.  A  groom  was  there  with  her 
horse,  however,  a  rather  rakish,  brown  mare  who 
picked  up  her  feet  with  extreme  daintiness,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  quite  humanly  the  admiration  with  which  two 
or  three  loitering  grooms  and  horsemen  regarded  her. 

It  was  one  of  those  opaline  days  of  the  lingering 
New  York  autumn.  The  air  was  soft,  and  yet  infi- 
nitely fresh  and  stimulating.  The  falling  breeze,  faint 
as  some  sweet,  forgotten  tune,  was  full  of  the  last, 
rich  fragrances  the  earth  gives  out,  and  of  the  smell 
of  burning  leaves  and  brushwood. 

For  Colvin,  the  years  and  Time  and  disappointment 
were  not.  His  heart  beat  like  a  boy's  as  he  saw  her 
hurrying  toward  him  in  her  smart  riding  clothes. 
She  waved  her  crop  at  him.  His  heart  seemed  to  stop 
for  a  moment,  and  then  it  soared  on  wings.  The 
morning  had  externalized  itself  in  Muriel. 

He  swung  from  his  horse  and  started  impulsively 
to  meet  her,  but  with  a  sudden  recollection,  halted  and 
put  his  hand  quickly  up  to  his  cheek  in  a  gesture  of 
concealment. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  127 

Before  he  reached  her  then,  she  had  already  mounted 
with  the  aid  of  her  groom;  and  the  restless  rnare, 
tired  of  her  ballet-dancing  and  her  attempts  to  jerk  the 
boy  around  in  circles,  immediately  bolted  and  was  off 
at  the  top  of  her  speed. 

There  was  a  bit  of  a  dash  for  both  of  them  before 
Colvin  caught  up  with  her.  He  was  still  holding  his 
hand  to  his  face,  and  he  saw  the  laughter  in  her  eyes 
change  suddenly  to  an  expression  of  solicitude. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked.  ''Why  do  you  hold 
your  hand  to  your  cheek?  Are  you  hurt?" 

"  No.  No,  indeed,"  he  made  haste  to  reassure  her. 
He  reddened,  and  his  eyes  showed  a  touch  of  down- 
cast embarrassment.  "-It's  only  that  I  am  hiding 
something  ugly  —  a  brand-new  scar.  You  never 
heard  of  a  brand-new  scar  before,  did  you?  "  He  did 
his  best  to  speak  lightly. 

Her  gaze,  still  bent  on  his  cheek,  was  full  of  per- 
plexity. "  But  there  isn't  such  a  thing,"  she  con- 
tended. "  Scars  come  from  old  wounds." 

"  Not  this  kind,"  he  asserted,  holding  his  tone  to 
that  lightness  he  was  far  from  feeling.  "  Mine  is 
painless,  and  put  on  with  a  brush.  There !  "  He  took 
down  his  hand  to  show  the  livid  mark  extending 
across  his  cheek. 

She  shivered.  "Oh,  how  frightful!"  she  cried. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  it  is  painted  on  ?  Never.  It 
couldn't  be  done.  It  must  be  real." 

"  But  I  assure  you  that  it  is  not.  It  is  only  a  thing 
of  acids  and  grease  paint  put  on  with  great  skill  —  and 
for  a  purpose." 

She  stiffened  in  the  saddle,  and  her  face  darkened 
stormily.  Colvin  had  never  noticed  how  proud  her 
mouth  was,  until  this  deep  shadow  of  disdain  lay  on 


128  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

it.  But  there  was  a  deeper  shadow  in  her  eyes  —  the 
pain  of  disappointment,  as  if  in  some  way  the  soul  of 
her  were  hurt.  It  stabbed  him  to  the  heart,  and  roused 
in  him  an  intense  and  surging  emotion. 

"Why,  it's  a  trick!"  Her  voice  scorned,  but  her 
eyes  reproached  him,  and  begged  him  to  restore  her 
faith. 

He  was  stung  to  a  passionate  justification.  Her 
faith  in  him  was  all  he  had  to  cling  to. 

"I  know  it's  a  trick,"  he  cried;  "a  shifty  trick  of 
the  underworld.  But  can't  you  understand?  I'm 
down  to  the  dregs,  and  I've  got  to  come  back.  I'm 
so  far  down  to  the  dregs  that  I  haven't  a  weapon  left 
to  fight  my  way  with.  I  was  absolutely,  completely, 
and  forever  out  of  the  game.  Nothing  left  me  but 
my  wits  and  my  ingenuity,  and  I'm  trying  to  hack  my 
way  back  with  them.  Maybe,  I'm  making  the  crown- 
ing mistake  of  a  life  full  of  mistakes.  But  if  I  wait 
to  pick  and  choose  —  to  discard  one  method,  and  take 
up  with  another  —  I  will  end  by  never  starting  at  all. 
So  I've  pushed  into  the  first  crooked,  brambly  path  that 
opened  before  me,  and  seized  the  first  weapon  that 
came  to  hand. 

"  Oh,  if  you'll  only  accept  me  as  I  am  for  a  short 
while,"  he  pleaded,  "  and  try  to  believe  that  I'm  doing 
my  best?  Perhaps  I  am  asking  too  much,  but  if  you 
could  just  trust  me  a  little  —  ?  " 

Their  horses'  feet  made  no  sound  on  the  soft  loam 
of  the  bridle  path.  The  trees  crowded  close  about 
them.  The  great,  turbulent,  clamorous,  waking  city 
seemed  very  far  away,  nowhere  upon  their  horizon. 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly.  The  sun  trickled 
through  the  leaves  and  branches  above  her  head,  and 
fell  in  dancing  motes  over  her  hair  and  upon  her  cheek 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  129 

that  was  like  the  petals  of  a  creamy  magnolia  blossom. 
Her  eyes,  bent  upon  him,  were  the  color  and  depth 
of  a  forest  pool.  And  then,  even  in  their  depths, 
they  suddenly  reflected  the  sun. 

"  I'll  trust  you,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  you."  He  bit  his  lip ;  it  trembled  a  little. 
"  That  means  a  lot  to  me.  You  see,  in  this  affair  of 
mine,  I  am  signalling  the  universe  for  trumps,  and  I 
haven't  got  them  yet;  so  in  the  meantime  I  have  to 
finesse  a  bit.  Try  to  look  at  it  in  that  way,  won't 
you?" 

She  merely  nodded,  and  starting  up  her  horse,  rode 
for  nearly  a  mile  in  silence.  Then  she  began  to  talk 
of  entirely  extraneous  things,  but  she  made  him  realize 
that  there  was  to  be  no  change  in  her  feeling  toward 
him,  no  break  in  their  oddly  intimate  and  understand- 
ing friendship. 

They  had  a  brisk  gallop  or  two  together,  and  then 
she  said  good-by.  But  his  heart  was  high,  and  con- 
tinued so  all  the  way  to  his  hotel.  He  entered  his 
rooms  humming  lightly  under  his  breath  —  a  snatch 
of  an  old  music-hall  ballad  popular  at  Koster  and 
Bial's  in  the  'Nineties.  It  was  a  thing  he  hadn't  done 
for  years. 

Wimms,  his  new  valet,  after  helping  him  out  of 
his  riding  togs,  turned  him  to  the  light,  and  gave  him 
critical  inspection. 

"  Your  cheek  will  need  a  little  attention,  sir,  I 
think,"  he  warned,  in  a  confidential  tone.  "  The  color 
is  rubbing  slightly,  I  see." 

Colvin  twisted  his  shoulders,  and  gave  an  impatient 
laugh.  "  You  talk  as  if  you  were  a  lady's  maid, 
Wimms."  He  stalked  into  the  bedroom,  jerked  off 
his  collar  and  necktie,  and  sat  down  irritably  before 


130  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

a  mirror,  looking  disgustedly  at  the  table  beside  him 
on  which  the  man  was  busily  arranging  unguents,  bot- 
tles, and  an  array  of  fine,  small  brushes  and  curiously 
shaped  instruments. 

"  If  I  had  known  all  the  trouble  I  was  letting  myself 
in  for  with  this  fool  scar,"  he  grumbled,  "  I'd  have 
thought  a  precious  long  while  before  I  ever  let  you 
get  within  reaching  distance  of  me." 

Wimms'  face  bore  the  expression  one  might  see  on 
a  mother's  who  has  just  heard  the  excellences  of  a 
darling  child  impugned. 

"  That,  of  course,  was  up  to  you,  Mr.  Vernon,"  he 
replied  with  respectful  dignity ;  "  but  you  said  you 
wanted  a  scar,  and  you've  got  it  —  a  beautiful  scar. 
Why,  sir,  you  couldn't  get  as  artistic  a  piece  of  work 
done  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  No,  sir;  not  in 
London,  or  Paris,  if  I  do  say  it  myself." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  belittling  your  skill,  Wimms.  I  give 
you  full  credit  as  a  master,  at  this  trade.  But  I  must 
confess,  I  envy  the  '  Hornet.'  He  can  plaster  up  his 
own  disfigurement,  and  let  it  go  at  that,  without  hav- 
ing to  be  fussed  and  pottered  over  every  time  he  comes 
into  the  house. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  the  valet  smiled  dubiously  with 
an  air  of  superior  knowledge;  "but  I'm  willing  to 
wager  that  at  this  very  moment  he's  swearing  quite 
roundly  over  his  job.  You've  got  to  know  just  how 
to  do  these  things,  sir. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Johnson's  clever,"  he  went  on ;  "  there's 
no  denying  that.  The  special  paste  he's  using  has  to 
be  rubbed  in  very  carefully  with  the  tips  of  the  fingers  ; 
and  he's  got  finger  tips  which  is  most  sensitive  —  eyes 
in  the  ends  of  'em,  you  might  almost  say.  Really,  sir, 
no  one  except  those  in  his  own  line  can  quite  appre- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  131 

ciate  Mr.  Johnson's  work.  His  touch!  Why,  a  but- 
terfly's wings  ain't  no  lighter,  and  a  bullet  ain't  so 
sure.  Still,  even  with  him,  it  took  quite  a  bit  of  show- 
ing before  he  could  learn  to  work  the  paste  in  prop- 
erly, and  even  now  I  wouldn't  want  fully  to  guar- 
antee the  results. 

"  However,  as  you  know,  sir,  he  didn't  think  it 
wise  that  I  should  be  going  back  and  forth  from  one 
to  the  other  of  you;  so  he  decided  to  take  the  risk 
on  what  he  could  do  for  himself.  You  are  very  for- 
tunate, sir,"  with  restrained  reproach ;  "  very  fortu- 
nate." 

Ashe  controlled  his  inclination  to  smile ;  Wimms  in- 
sisted upon  an  absolute  immobility  of  the  countenance 
upon  which  he  was  engaged.  He  occupied  himself, 
therefore,  with  speculations  upon  this  strange  attend- 
ant of  his. 

Wimms  was  in  his  way  a  character.  A  small- 
mouse-colored,  mouselike  creature,  he  was  as  unob- 
trusive as  an  unnoticed  background,  and  with  his 
noiseless  entrances  and  rapid  exits,  he  almost  seemed 
to  appear  or  to  fade  from  the  scene  while  one  was 
looking  directly  at  him.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  the 
mouse's  nervousness,  too.  He  hated  noises,  and 
would  jump  at  the  sudden  opening  of  a  door,  an  un- 
expected call. 

Colvin  wondered  idly  if  his  name,  Wimms,  were  not 
a  contraction  or  corruption  of  the  English  "  Wemyss." 
The  "  Hornet "  had  given  a  rather  sketchy  account  of 
him,  when  Ashe  had  asked  some  questions.  He  was 
Cockney  born,  the  "  Hornet "  said,  but  had  lived  con- 
siderably on  the  Continent,  and  knew  the  inside  of 
many  European  prisons.  It  was  intimated  vaguely, 
too,  that  it  was  a  passion  for  the  skilful  imitation  of 


132  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

signatures  which  had  led  to  his  present  semi-retire- 
ment. 

The  inaction  was  growing  tiresome.  Ashe  bravely 
suppressed  a  strong  desire  to  yawn. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  take  up  this  particular 
expression  of  art,  Wimms?"  he  mumbled  through 
closed  lips. 

If  he  could  have  seen  the  valet's  face,  he  would  have 
realized  the  enormity  of  his  mistake.  In  the  circles 
in  which  Wimms  moved,  it  is  not  only  a  want  of  tact 
to  inquire  regarding  one's  past,  it  is  often  dangerous. 

Indeed,  the  aegis  of  the  "  Hornet's  "  friendship  was 
all  that  saved  Colvin  now;  for  Wimms  was  a  stickler 
for  convention. 

He  stood  with  the  camel's-hair  brush  he  was  wield- 
ing poised  in  air.  There  was  the  silence  of  icicles  for 
a  moment.  When  he  spoke,  his  tone  was  instinct  with 
reserve. 

"  It  came  about,  I  suppose,  sir,  from  an  early  con- 
nection with  the  theatrical  profession.  I  was  dresser 
for  a  prominent  actor  when  I  was  quite  a  boy,  and 
the  business  of  make-up  always  interested  me  greatly. 
Later,  I  studied  to  gain  the  more  permanent  effects. 
The  other  is  mere  rough  daubing  compared  to  it.  And 
I  may  say,  sir,"  his  voice  relaxed  slightly  as  his  pride 
warmed,  "  that  I  have  raised  the  whole  standard  of 
the  work.  Most  of  the  preparations  I  use  are  my 
own  that  I've  worked  out  with  a  chemist.  The  color- 
ing is  the  most  difficult  part  to  get  right,  hitting  off 
the  exact  shade  and  all  that,  you  know ;  but  I've  studied 
scars  everywhere  —  gone  right  into  the  hospitals 
after  them.  I  can  paint  3rou  a  scar  in  any  stage  you 
ask  —  old  or  new  —  without  a  model.  Got  it  all  right 
here,  sir."  He  touched  his  forehead. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  133 

"  Now  you,  sir,"  the  man  went  on.  "  Take  that 
scar  of  yours.  It'll  stand  the  test  of  the  strongest 
sunlight.  No  one  could  possibly  detect  that  it  isn't 
genuine.  You  can  even  wash  your  face,  sir,  if  you 
use  a  bit  of  care." 

"  Who  wants  to  wash  one's  face,  and  use  a  bit  of 
care  ?  "  Ashe  grumbled. 

But  Wimms  was  not  to  be  dashed  by  any  lack  of 
appreciation  on  the  part  of  his  subject. 

"There,  sir!"  His  tone  was  that  of  a  sculptor 
uncovering  a  masterpiece.  He  whisked  the  towel 
from  Colvin's  throat,  and  held  a  handglass  before 
him  at  the  same  time.  "  Nature  herself  couldn't  have 
done  worse  by  you  than  that." 

Ashe  scowled  at  the  reflection  presented  to  him. 
He  felt  like  seizing  the  towel  and  rubbing  at  his  cheek 
until  he  had  expunged  the  results  of  his  valet's  handi- 
work. Why,  just  at  this  especial  time,  did  he  have 
to  be  made  to  look  so  repulsive  —  so  sinister  ? 

He  waved  away  the  glass  with  an  impatient  gesture, 
and  started  to  his  feet;  but  Wimms,  laying  a  respect- 
ful hand  on  his  shoulder,  detained  him  in  his  seat. 

"  Your  eyebrows,  sir,"  he  reminded  in  a  tone  kindly 
but  firm.  "  They're  a  bit  noticeable  still,  and  must  be 
made  more  strictly  conventional." 

"  Oh,"  Ashe  writhed  in  futile  protest.  "  You're  a 
throwback  to  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  Wimms;  jerk- 
ing them  out  that  way,  hair  by  hair.  Ouch !  " 

"  Why,  ladies  think  nothing  of  this,  sir."  Wimms 
shook  his  head  reprovingly.  "  They  have  their  brows 
arched,  just  as  they  have  their  nails  manicured,  and 
almost  as  often." 

"  I  always  insisted  that  they  were  the  stronger  sex," 
Ashe  murmured.  "  Now  I  know  it." 


134  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  And  one  final  word,  sir,"  admonished  Wimms, 
standing  small  but  commanding  before  him.  "  You 
are  very  good  about  your  accent.  It  couldn't  be  better, 
and  you  use  it  as  natural  as  can  be.  But,  if  you'll 
bear  with  me,  sir,  you're  not  quite  careful  enough 
about  your  walk,  and  the  way  you  use  your  hands. 
Shorter  steps,  and  don't  throw  out  your  right  hand 
when  you're  talking.  Just  keep  those  things  in  mind, 
sir,"  his  voice  became  almost  pleading.  "  Make  'em 
a  part  of  yourself -like." 

Colvin  had  been  once  more  surveying  himself  in  the 
glass,  and  with  a  growing  distaste  for  the  present- 
ment. To  any  one  else  he  would  have  appeared 
merely  as  a  distinguished-looking  gentleman  unfor- 
tunately disfigured,  but  to  his  own  hypercritical  eye  he 
seemed  a  Caliban. 

His  heart  sank.  No  matter  how  courteously  Muriel 
concealed  it,  she  could  not  have  regarded  him  other 
than  with  horror.  And  then  upon  his  doleful  reflec- 
tions, Wimms  broke  in  with  his  cautioning  admoni- 
tions. 

"  Make  'em  a  part  of  yourself -like,"  he  repeated. 

Colvin  rose,  and  held  his  arms  to  let  the  valet  slip 
on  his  coat. 

"  You  believe  in  playing  the  game  with  every  ounce 
that's  in  you,  don't  you,  Wimms?"  he  said.  "Well, 
so  do  I,  but  —  " 

He  sighed  wearily,  adjusting  his  thick-rimmed  eye- 
glasses, and  strolled  toward  his  sitting-room,  but 
paused  as  Wimms  gave  one  of  his  mouse-like,  nervous 
starts.  The  telephone  bell  was  clattering. 

"  Answer  it,"  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  instru- 
ment, and  stood  waiting  while  the  other  took  up  the 
receiver,  and  listened  a  moment. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  135 

"  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir."  Wimms  glanced  at  him 
dubiously. 

"  A  lady?  "  Ashe  stared  back  in  surprise,  then  drew 
his  breath  sharply.  Muriel?  But  chill  second 
thought  told  him  it  was  far  more  likely  to  be  one  of 
his  aunts.  There  was,  however,  a  possibility. 

"  Ask  her  to  come  up,"  he  said,  and  walking  quickly 
into  the  sitting-room,  rearranged  a  chair  or  two,  and 
drew  the  shades  at  the  windows  so  that  the  painted 
fraud  upon  his  cheek  might  not  be  so  glaringly  in 
evidence. 

He  had  barely  finished  before  there  was  a  low  knock 
upon  the  door.  Wimms  opened  it,  bowed,  and  faded 
into  the  inner  room,  closing  softly  the  door  through 
which  he  passed. 

A  woman  came  in,  veiled  and  furred.  For  a  mo- 
ment Ashe  stared,  entirely  forgetful  of  his  manners. 
It  was  not  Muriel.  It  was  not  his  Aunt  Estelle,  nor 
his  Aunt  Martina.  It  was —  !  He  suppressed  a 
hasty  exclamation.  In  spite  of  her  wraps  and  veils, 
something  in  her  movements,  something  in  the  lift 
of  her  head,  proclaimed  her.  Yes ;  it  was  Freda ! 

Never  before  in  all  his  life  had  he  so  strongly  to 
draw  upon  his  self-control.  He  was  taken  unpre- 
pared, at  a  disadvantage.  True,  he  stood  upon  his 
own  territory.  He  was  master  of  the  ground.  But 
that  by  no  means  meant  that  he  was  master  of  the 
situation.  He  could  not  feel  master  of  the  situation 
until  he  was  sure  that  Freda  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  ?  "  Her  voice  was  so  low  that  he 
barely  caught  it,  and  yet  how  familiar  those  soft,  hesi- 
tating tones. 

"  Yes  ?  "  Extreme  formality  shaded  the  politeness 
of  his  bow. 


136  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Whitefield  —  Mrs.  William  Whitefield." 
She  advanced  farther  into  the  room,  and  spoke  more 
audibly.  "  I  have  come  to  see  you  upon  a  —  upon  a 
confidential  matter.  Something  purely  personal  and 
confidential." 

"  Yes  ?  "  still  interrogatively.  He  drew  a  chair 
toward  her,  and  placed  it  so  that  she  would  face  the 
light.  "Won't  you  sit  here,  Mrs.  Whitefield?" 

Mentally,  he  was  both  applauding  and  envying  her 
woman's  cleverness.  It  was  she  who,  having  sought 
him,  must  explain  the  reason  for  her  visit.  He  had 
all  the  best  of  it,  so  far  as  position  went,  and  yet  she 
had  managed  to  secure  her  purely  feminine  advantages. 

Knowing  that  she  was  about  to  throw  herself,  so 
to  speak,  into  the  spot-light,  she  had  utilized  all  the 
possibilities  of  costume  to  protect  her.  The  brim  of 
her  hat  fell  low  over  her  eyes,  effectually  shading 
them,  her  furs,  which  she  did  not  remove,  were  high 
about  her  face,  and  the  veil  that  she  wore  was  of 
heavy  mesh  and  an  intricate  pattern. 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak,  determined  not  to  give 
her  an  opening,  conscious  meanwhile  that  she  was 
studying  him  warily  from  behind  the  barrier  of  her 
defenses. 

"  I  hope,"  she  began  at  last  in  a  halting  voice,  "  that 
you  believe  me,  when  I  repeat  that  I  am  on  a  purely 
personal  mission.  I  am  not  sent  by  any  one  else,  nor 
acting  for  any  one  else.  No  one  even  dreams  that  I 
am  here." 

He  bowed  as  before,  and  again  stood  on  guard. 
But  realizing  that  they  might  go  on  this  way  in- 
definitely, with  his  side  of  the  conversation  confined 
to  noncommittal  bows  and  monosyllables,  he  decided 
to  change  his  tactics.  .What  profit  was  there  in  a  duel 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  137 

of  that  sort,  he  asked  himself.  He  could  hold  the 
pose,  of  course,  could  even  pretend  to  be  ignorant  of 
the  identity  of  Mrs.  William  Whitefield,  and  of  any 
reason  which  she  might  have  for  coming  to  him.  But 
it  would  be  palpable  pretense.  He,  therefore,  broke 
his  silence. 

"  You  mean,  Mrs.  Whitefield,"  he  said  suavely, 
"  that  no  one  knows  of  your  being  here,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  two  men  whom  your  husband  has  em- 
ployed to  follow  me.  You  could  hardly  have  escaped 
their  notice." 

She  gave  the  sharpest  of  starts;  but  her  answer 
showed  that  she  had  not  ignored  this  phase  of  the 
situation,  and  to  his  surprise  she  spoke  frankly,  even 
with  a  certain  nonchalance. 

"  They  will  report  of  course  that  a  woman  called 
on  you  at  this  hour,  but  I  hardly  think  it  likely  that 
they  will  be  able  to  say  who  it  was.  I  came  in  a 
taxicab  which  I  picked  up  on  the  Avenue,  and  I  wore 
this,"  she  shook  out  a  dark,  chiffon  veil  which  she 
carried  over  her  arm. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,"  she  bent  forward  a  little.  Her 
voice  throbbed,  almost  broke  in  her  throat.  "Of 
course  you  do  not  believe  me.  No  matter  what  I  say, 
you  will  continue  to  regard  me  as  an  emissary  of  my 
husband's.  But  if  you  will  only  try  to  lay  aside  any 
prejudice,  any  suspicions  you  may  have  on  that  score, 
I  think  I  can  soon  convince  you  that  I  am  here  solely 
upon  my  own  initiative.  The  very  nature  of  what  I 
have  to  say  will  prove  that." 

She  puzzled  him.  No  assertion  of  hers  could  carry 
any  weight  with  him;  yet  there  was  an  undeniable 
sincerity  in  her  voice.  He  took  refuge  in  silence, 
and  waited  for  her  more  clearly  to  show  her  hand. 


138  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

His  mind  surged  with  the  strangeness  of  the  mo- 
ment, the  fatefulness  of  this  encounter.  To  meet 
again  after  all  these  years  the  woman  who  had  in- 
spired his  first  great  passion,  to  whom  he  had  given 
the  love  of  his  youth,  whom  he  had  idealized  and  set 
apart  above  life's  dusty  and  trodden  pathways  —  and 
who  had  at  the  last  sordidly  betrayed  him! 

The  ghost  of  that  old  passion  swept  across  his 
heartstrings,  but  evoked  no  response.  It  was  but  the 
momentary  echo  of  words  once  full  of  meaning,  but 
which  had  now  lost  their  significance,  and  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  sort  of  wonder  that  a  past  could  be  so 
dead.  This  woman,  whose  soft  and  exquisite  love- 
liness had  once  filled  his  heart,  who  had  shone  like 
a  star  above  him,  stirring  him  to  high,  ambitious 
dreams,  was  powerless  now  to  affect  him  in  any 
way.  Between  them,  instead  of  a  vibrating  ether  full 
of  colorful  emotion  and  a  thousand  palpitating  mes- 
sages, was  only  cold,  empty  space. 

And  Freda  on  her  part  felt  each  moment  more  un- 
certain of  herself  and  her  mission.  She  had  come 
with  a  plan  of  attack  mapped  out.  But  if  it  were  the 
family  scapegrace,  time  had  wiped  out  every  identify- 
ing feature  by  which  she  remembered  him.  Only  the 
scar  remained ;  and  scars,  even  of  so  distinctive  a  char- 
acter, are  hardly  a  monopoly.  Rather  than  make  a 
mistake,  therefore,  and  since  he  himself  had  shown  no 
inclination  to  acknowledge  the  relationship,  she  de- 
cided to  treat  him  as  a  stranger. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  "  —  her  voice,  although  it  could  no 
longer  move  Colvin,  had,  he  recognized,  lost  none  of 
its  wistful  appeal  —  "I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion. If  you  answer  in  the  negative,  I  shall  accept 
your  word  and  leave  at  once.  That  would  be  an  easy 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  139 

way  to  get  rid  of  me,  would  it  not?"  she  smiled 
faintly ;  "  but  I  don't  believe  that  you  are  the  man  to 
take  it.  To  come  to  the  point  then :  Are  you  the  Mr. 
Vernon  who  called  to  see  Mr.  Whitefield's  niece  the 
night  of  the  robbery  which  occurred  at  our  house?  '' 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  readily.  "  I  found  a  purse 
which  Miss  Fletcher  had  lost  on  the  street  that  after- 
noon, and  returned  it  the  same  evening." 

He  looked  at  her  as  he  spoke,  smiling  a  little.  She 
was  gazing  at  him,  and  suddenly  as  their  eyes  met, 
her  scrutiny  became  more  intense,  more  vital.  It  was 
as  if  a  flame  had  leaped  to  her  eyes,  and  focussed 
itself  upon  him  as  through  a  burning-glass.  A  quick 
thrill  darted  through  him.  Did  it  mean  that  she 
had  recognized  him?  Then  she  brushed  her  hand 
across  her  eyes;  the  light  he  dreaded  dimmed  to  a 
haze  of  perplexity. 

She  plucked  vaguely  at  the  fur  of  her  muff,  evidently 
a  little  at  sea. 

"  You  spoke  a  moment  or  two  ago  of  the  detectives 
my  husband  has  following  you.  That  can  hardly  be 
pleasant  ?  " 

He  gave  his  quick,  French  shrug.  "  Sooner  or 
later,  it  will  stop,  when  Mr.  Whitefield  begins  to 
understand  that  he  is  incurring  an  expense  for  which 
he  is  getting  no  results." 

"Perhaps?"  Her  lips  compressed  a  little.  "But 
indifferent  as  you  choose  to  seem,  I  cannot  but  be- 
lieve that  you  would  prefer  to  be  freed  of  this 
espionage.  The  situation  must  be  far  from  an  easy 
one.  It  isn't  necessary  to  go  into  all  that,  however, 
What  I  want  you  to  understand  is  that  my  own  situa- 
tion is  fully  as  unpleasant  as  yours;  so  I  am  here  to 
propose  a  bargain  to  you." 


140  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"Yes?"  said  Ashe  encouragingly. 

"  I  want  to  ask  your  aid  in  recovering  my  jewels. 
My  influence  with  my  husband  is  well  known.  He 
will  do —  Well,  it  lies  in  my  power  to  divert  every 
suspicion  from  you.  Truly,  Mr.  Vernon,  I  would  do 
almost  anything  to  get  back  those  jewels  of  mine." 

She  had  given  the  cue  to  her  visit  at  last,  and  he 
drew  a  breath  of  relief.  This  made  his  course  a 
simple  one. 

"  I  must  confess  that  you  surprise  me,  Mrs.  White- 
field,"  he  returned  with  grave  courtesy.  "  Naturally, 
I  know  something  of  the  Whitefield  case;  I  read  the 
newspapers.  And  I  had  gathered  that  your  loss  was 
inconsiderable,  at  least  to  so  rich  a  woman  as  your- 
self —  merely  a  few  trifles." 

She  made  a  despairing  gesture.  She  was  forlorn, 
touchingly  feminine.  But  he  remained  unmoved. 
He  had  seen  her  so  before.  There  is  nothing  so 
pitiless  in  all  the  world  as  the  eye  which  looks  with 
a  new  and  inevitably  hard  appraisement  upon  the 
object  which  it  has  once  ardently  adored.  Poor,  bare, 
shivering  object  of  a  past  adoration!  It  stands  there 
stripped  of  all  those  rosy  veils  of  illusion  which  once 
lent  it  ineffable  grace  and  charm  —  stripped  even  of 
whatever  inherent  beauty  it  may  possess,  because 
upon  it  is  inflicted  the  self-scorn  of  the  observer. 

"  Oh,  those  things  on  the  police  list  do  not  count." 
She  clasped  her  hands  together,  a  sob  broke  from  her 
lips.  "  You  know  well  enough  what  I  want  —  my 
sapphires  worth  a  fortune.  I  am  throwing  myself  on 
your  mercy.  .  .  .  My  husband  must  not  discover  the 
loss  of  those  stones.  They  are  only  mine  nominally. 
.  .  .  Mine  to  wear,  that's  all.  He  looks  upon  them 
as  an  investment  of  his  own." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  141 

Colvin  could  barely  repress  an  ironic  smile.  The 
whimsical  turns  of  the  wheel  of  fate!  This  woman 
sitting  opposite  him  had  sold  him  out  for  a  handful 
of  pearls  and  sapphires.  And  now  she  was  asking 
them  of  him,  pleading  with  him  to  give  her  back  her 
price. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly.  "  An  unfortunate 
situation,  as  you  say.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  be  of 
any  assistance  to  you,  Mrs.  Whitefield.  I  do  not  pre- 
tend of  course  to  misunderstand  your  object  in  appeal- 
ing to  me.  You  believe  that  I  am  connected  with  the 
robbery.  Not  flattering,  but  forgivable  under  the 
circumstances." 

"  Robbery  —  and  murder,"  she  interrupted  sharply. 
"  You  must  admit  that  there  are  several  coincidences 
in  the  affair  which  might  prove  annoying,  even  disas- 
trous to  you." 

He  laughed  quite  naturally,  as  if  amused;  and  at 
the  sound,  she  lifted  her  head  quickly.  Again  her  eyes 
focussed  themselves  upon  him,  that  burning  gleam  in 
their  depths. 

"  That's  vague,"  he  said.  "  You've  hinted  to  me 
of  reprisals  several  times  since  you've  been  here; 
but  —  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  as  he  did  so,  she 
again  relaxed  her  scrutiny,  and  that  haze  of  perplex- 
ity once  more  filmed  her  eyes.  She  heard  him  say- 
ing: 

"  The  mere  fact  that  I  happen  to  have  called  at  your 
home  and  talked  with  your  niece  some  hours  before 
the  robbery  occurred  is  hardly  enough  of  a  coincidence 
to  base  an  accusation  upon,  Mrs.  Whitefield.  I  am 
not  even  a  material  witness." 

But  she  was  rapidly  losing  her  self-control.     "  Oh, 


142  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

why  will  you  insist  upon  this  game  of  cross-purposes?  " 
She  pressed  her  arms  down  hard  upon  the  sides  of  her 
chair.  "  I  make  you  a  fair  offer.  If  you  will  only 
restore  my  sapphires,  I  will  promise  that  you,  in  turn, 
shall  not  be  bothered  in  any  way.  I  will  do  more  than 
that  for  you,"  eagerly.  "  You  shall  not  be  the  loser. 
I  will  take  you  to  the  houses  of  my  friends  — 
women  with  even  more  valuable  jewels  than  mine.  I 
will  give  you  information  that  you  can  use,  will  help 
you  in  a  hundred  ways." 

Before  he  could  answer  this  amazing  proposal,  they 
were  interrupted  by  a  knock  on  the  door,  distinct  and 
imperative. 

"  Open  up  there,  '  Hornet,' "  commanded  a  voice 
from  the  outside.  "  No  use  stalling.  We  know 
you're  in,  and  we  want  to  see  you." 

Ashe  looked  up,  startled,  and  then  threw  a  glance 
of  quick  suspicion  toward  his  companion.  But  her 
dismay  was  too  real  to  be  simulated.  She  turned  to 
him,  unnerved,  imploring. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  gasped.  "No  one  must 
see  me  here !  " 

He  followed  his  instinctive  impulse  to  protect  a  wo- 
man under  any  circumstances,  and  stepping  quickly 
to  the  door  of  his  bedroom,  opened  it  and  motioned 
her  to  go  in.  She  did  so,  noiselessly  closing  the  door 
behind  her;  and  then,  as  she  leaned  faint  and  dizzy 
against  the  panel,  she  heard  him  cross  the  room,  and 
admit  his  importunate  visitors. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  you  seem  to  have  been  cutting  quite 
a  swath  lately?"  a  gruff  voice  gave  greeting.  She 
recognized  it  as  that  of  the  police  inspector  who  had 
been  at  the  house  on  the  morning  following  the  rob- 
bery. "  New  line  of  goods  you're  showing  this  sea- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  143 

son,  eh?  But  you  ought  to  have  known  that  you 
couldn't  get  away  with  it,  not  with  that  gash  across 
your  map ;  for  as  the  old  song  runs :  '  Everywhere  that 
Johnson  went,  his  scar  was  sure  to  go.' ' 

He  gave  a  short,  throaty  chuckle;  then  his  tone 
changed,  and  he  began  to  browbeat. 

"  But  getting  down  to  business,  Hornet,  suppose  you 
tell  me  —  "  He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  Freda  could 
picture  the  covert  pulling  of  his  companion  at  his 
sleeve.  There  were  two  of  them,  she  had  gathered 
when  they  entered  the  room. 

A  moment  later,  she  caught  a  hoarse,  warning  whis- 
per. Evidently  they  were  very  near  to  the  door  behind 
which  she  stood. 

"  Hell,  Chief;  that  ain't  no  more  Al.  Johnson  than 
you  are ! " 

There  was  a  startled  pause  succeeding  this,  a  sort 
of  befuddled  hiatus:  then  the  Inspector  whispered 
back  in  protest: 

"  But  he's  got  the  scar,  all  right?  " 

"  So's  a  dozen  other  guys  around  town,  maybe. 
He's  about  the  same  height  and  general  description, 
too.  You  can't  blame  the  boys  for  handing  us  the 
wrong  dope.  But  get  a  fair  slant  at  him,  and  any- 
body who  knows  Johnson  could  tell  the  difference." 

"You're  sure,  Sergeant?"  The  Inspector  was 
plainly  reluctant  to  abandon  his  quarry.  "  They  say 
this  bird  is  there  with  the  disguise  stuff  to  a  finish. 
Might  it  not  be  the  '  Hornet '  after  all,  just  pulling 
off  a  new  stunt  on  us?  " 

"  Pos-i-tively  not."  The  answer  was  uncompro- 
mising. "  I'd  know  Johnson  anywhere  in  a  million, 
and  I  tell  you  it  ain't  him." 

The  whispers  ceased;  and  after  a  pause,  the  Inspec- 


144  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

tor  addressed  Colvin  again,  but  in  a  far  less  free  and 
easy  fashion. 

"  Er  — "  He  stopped  and  cleared  his  throat. 
"  Suppose  you  tell  us  just  who  you  are? " 

"  I  might  perhaps  more  justifiably  ask  the  same 
question."  Freda  could  imagine  the  light,  derisive 
shrug  accompanying  the  words.  "  But  it  is  unnec- 
essary; the  earmarks  of  your  trade  are  unmistakable. 
But  the  reason  for  this  call  with  which  you  have 
honored  me  is  somewhat  less  obvious.  I  gather, 
though,  from  some  allusions  to  my  unfortunate  scar," 
she  could  almost  see  him  lay  his  finger  to  his  cheek, 
"  and  to  a  person  you  call  the  —  the  '  Hornet,'  was 
it?  —  that  you  must  have  been  misled  into  believing 
me  some  notorious  criminal  that  you  are  after. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  then,"  he  laughed  amus- 
edly, "  I  suppose,  I  had  better  clear  myself  of  suspi- 
cion. Will  you  sit  down  and  have  a  cigar?  .  .  .  To 
begin  with,  my  name  is  Vernon,  and  —  " 

Freda,  with  her  tense  interest  relaxing,  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  another  presence  close  at  hand. 
She  turned  with  a  little  start  to  see  Wimms  standing 
just  behind  her,  and  also  listening  to  the  conversation 
on  the  other  side  of  the  door. 

He  moved  back  guiltily,  but  she  took  a  quick  step 
toward  him. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Vernon's  man,  are  you  not  ?  "  she 
asked  in  an  undertone. 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  Then  isn't  there  some  way  to  get  me  out  of 
here  ? "  glancing  around.  "  That  door  yonder  ? 
Does  it  lead  into  the  hall  ?  " 

She  started  toward  it  as  sh*  spoke,  but  he  raised 
a  quick  hand  in  caution. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  145 

"  Wait  a  moment,  if  you  please,  Madam.  I  think 
the  coast  will  probably  be  clear  now,  but  I  had  better 
make  sure." 

He  tiptoed  over  to  the  door,  opened  it  carefully,  and 
glanced  up  and  down  the  corridor.  Then  he  nodded 
to  her  to  come  ahead. 

She  paused  a  moment  to  fumble  at  her  purse  as  she 
passed  him,  and  slip  a  coin  into  his  hand ;  and  Wimms 
took  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 

"  I  might  perhaps  be  of  further  service  to  Madam," 
he  murmured  softly. 

There  was  a  significance  in  his  tone  which  caught 
her  attention.  She  turned  quickly  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  Madam  has  lost  some  valu- 
able sapphires  ?  "  He  formed  the  words  with  his  lips, 
rather  than  spoke  them  aloud. 

She  dropped  her  hand  sharply  on  his  wrist.  "  And 
you  can  get  them  for  me?  Do  so,  and  I  will  pay 
you  well." 

"  How  much  ?  "  The  valet's  face  was  like  a  mask ; 
only  his  lips  moved. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars." 

A  contemptuous  smile  flickered  across  his  mouth. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"  Ten  thousand,"  breathlessly.  "  I  can  do  no  more 
than  that." 

Wimms  leaned  toward  her,  his  narrow,  ratlike  face 
sharpening  as  if  to  the  scent  of  some  peculiarly  rich 
cheese. 

"  It  is  not  enough,"  he  murmured.  "  But  — 
Madam  will  understand  that  I,  too,  have  been  listening 
at  doors  —  there  was  a  proposition  made  to  Mr.  Ver- 
non  a  while  ago  —  Your  friends  —  The  ladies  with 


146  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

jewels  even  more  valuable  than  your  own —  Would 
that  offer  also  be  open  to  another  party?  " 

She  fell  back  a  step  or  two,  repressing  a  slight  gasp. 
Her  eyes  widened  slowly.  She  stared  at  him  as  if 
fascinated.  Then  she  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  and 
started  across  the  threshold,  but  only  to  turn  as  a  recol- 
lection of  her  desperate  plight  swept  over  her. 

"  Come  to  my  house  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  see  you  at  three  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  Colvin  and  the  "  Hornet "  had  parted,  the 
one  to  take  up  his  more  or  less  conspicuous  role  at 
the  Hotel  Marmontel,  the  other  retiring  to  subdolous 
haunts  and  activities  of  his  own,  they  made  the  sep- 
aration between  them  complete. 

The  "  Hornet,"  with  what  seemed  to  Ashe  an  excess 
of  caution,  had  discountenanced  any  exchange  of  com- 
munication beyond  that  provided  by  an  ingenious  sys- 
tem of  signals  which  had  been  agreed  upon,  and  which 
served  as  a  means  to  report  their  respective  prog- 
ress. 

Realizing,  however,  the  possibility  of  an  emergency 
demanding  more  detailed  consultation,  he  had  arranged 
a  method  whereby  under  exceptional  circumstances 
they  could  talk  to  one  another  over  the  telephone. 

So  strongly  had  he  impressed  upon  Ashe,  though, 
that  this  was  never  to  be  risked  except  as  a  last  resort, 
that  the  latter  withstood  the  temptation  to  use  it, 
alhough  he  would  have  given  much  to  obtain  an  ex- 
pression from  the  "  Hornet "  upon  that  morning's 
events. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  his  mind,  therefore,  when 
early  in  the  afternoon  there  was  delivered  to  him  from 
one  of  the  department  stores  a  pair  of  gloves  which 
he  had  neither  bought  nor  ordered. 

It  was  the  pre-arranged  signal  by  which  the  "  Hor- 
net "  was  to  inform  him  when  he  wished  to  be  called 


148  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

up;  and  since  the  gloves  were  of  gray  castor,  two-but- 
toned, Colvin  gathered  that  he  was  to  do  so  at  two 
o'clock  that  afternoon. 

Accordingly,  leaving  Wimms  to  his  own  devices, 
he  started  out  ostensibly  for  a  walk,  and  crossing  over 
to  Broadway  just  as  the  clock  on  the  Herald  building 
pointed  to  the  hour,  entered  a  telephone  booth. 

Taking  a  leaf  from  Muriel's  book,  he  had  put  in  the 
forty-five  minutes  or  so  since  leaving  the  hotel  at  a 
game  of  hide  and  seek,  with  the  purpose  of  shaking 
off  his  dogging  shadows,  and  fancied  that  he  had 
succeeded.  Still,  even  with  the  chance  that  one  of 
them  might  be  at  his  heels  and  able  to  "  listen  in,"  he 
had  little  fear  that  anything  of  importance  could  be 
gathered  from  the  conversation;  for  the  "Hornet" 
had  instructed  him  on  such  occasions  to  clothe  his 
speech  in  a  casual  and  conventional  hyperbole  designed 
to  bewilder  any  one  trying  to  overhear. 

The  "  Hornet "  proved  to  be  as  prompt  as  himself. 
There  was  no  delay  in  effecting  connection. 

"  Well,  how's  everything  ?"  his  deep,  harsh  voice 
asked  over  the  wire. 

Colvin  took  his  cue  from  the  tone,  direct,  business- 
like, but  as  between  friends  —  the  "Bill  and  Joe" 
sort  of  thing. 

"  Oh,  so,  so,"  he  replied.  "  Rather  a  busy  day  for 
me  so  far.  Had  a  rush  of  customers  all  morning. 
Two  from  down-town  —  Center  Street." 

"  H'm."  The  "  Hornet "  evidently  caught  the  sig- 
nificance of  this.  "  Have  any  bother  in  handling 
them?" 

"  No.  They  were  looking  for  a  special  brand  of 
goods  —  the  '  Bumblebee '  it  was,  or  something  like 
that  —  and  they  made  me  show  my  entire  line.  But 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  149 

finally  they  seemed  satisfied  that  they  had  come  to  the 
wrong  shop." 

"  The  buyers  from  that  house  are  all  boobs,"  the 
"  Hornet "  observed  contemptuously. 

"  Nevertheless,  they  had  me  on  edge  for  a  while," 
confessed  Colvin.  "  The  situation  was  a  bit  thick, 
you  see.  I  had  a  lady  customer  at  the  same  time." 

"A  lady  customer?  At  your  place?"  His  satir- 
ical laughter  rattled  through  the  receiver.  "  Oh,  I 
see.  One  of  your  aunts,  eh  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  was  yours."  Colvin  couldn't 
resist  that,  and  he  was  repaid  by  a  quick  gasp  from  the 
other  end  of  the  wire. 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  .What  on  earth  did  she 
want?" 

"  Jewelry,"  returned  Colvin  laconically.  "  She  made 
me  a  rather  staggering  offer,  but  not  having  exactly 
what  she  wanted  in  stock,  I  was  compelled  to  decline. 
Perhaps,  also,"  he  added,  "  she  had  another  reason 
for  coming.  She  has  heard  a  good  deal  about  me, 
you  know,  and  she  may  have  wanted  to  satisfy  her 
curiosity." 

"And  did  she?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.  The  other  buyers  interrupted 
us  before  we  had  quite  finished,  and  I  had  to  slip  her 
out  the  back  way.  If  I'm  any  judge,  though,  she  left 
me  more  puzzled  than  when  she  came." 

"  She  won't  stop  there."  There  was  a  warning  note 
in  the  nephew's  voice.  "You  want  to  look  sharp, 
son." 

"  By  the  way,"  Ashe  broke  in  with  apparent  irrele- 
vance, "  I'd  better  tell  you  now  that  I  won't  be  at 
home  to-morrow  evening,  in  case  you  should  want  me 
for  anything.  I  am  going  to  a  dance  at  the  White- 


150  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

fields,  and  am  dining  first  with  Mrs.  Vansittart  and 
Miss  Gansevoort." 

The  "Hornet"  chuckled.  "It  sounds  like  the 
Society  column  in  the  Sunday  supplement,  which  my 
wife  pores  over." 

"Ah,  yes;  and  how  is  your  wife?" 

"  I  haven't  heard  this  week,"  returned  the  "  Hor- 
net "  with  equal  gravity.  "  You  know  the  doctor 
ordered  her  away  for  a  complete  change." 

"  Yes,"  still  politely  sympathetic. 

"  Yes,"  echoed  Hempstead,  and  there  was  now  a  sig- 
nificance in  his  tone  which  made  Colvin  listen  with  a 
concentrated  intensity.  "  And  all  of  her  friends  have 
been  so  considerate  in  inquiring  for  her  —  except 
one." 

There  was  an  ominous  emphasis  in  his  voice  now, 
something  that  advised  his  listener  to  heed  every  word 
and  catch  the  meaning  that  lay  beneath  it. 

"  I  hear  that  this  person  is  away  now  on  a  little 
trip,"  the  "  Hornet "  went  on.  "  I  think  I  shall  have 
to  look  her  up,  and  find  out  the  cause  of  the  coolness. 
Nice  girl,  very;  and  she's  always  been  a  good  friend 
of  my  wife's,  but  a  little  mercenary,  I'rr  afraid." 

Ashe  strove  desperately  to  grasp  exactly  what  the 
other  was  trying  to  convey.  He  realized  that  this  was 
of  tremendous  importance  to  himself. 

"  You  —  you  mean  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  mean  nothing  very  serious,"  interrupted  Hemp- 
stead  in  swift  warning.  "  I'm  not  very  fit;  that's  all. 
And  I  may  have  to  run  out  of  town  for  a  few  days  on 
a  much  needed  vacation.  I  won't  be  leaving  for  a  day 
or  so,  though.  I  want  to  decide  on  a  location.  It 
would  be  odd,  if  I  should  happen  to  run  across  this 
friend  of  my  wife's,  wouldn't  it?" 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  151 

Ashe  groaned  impatiently.  "  Isn't  there  any  \vay 
I  can  meet  you,  and  have  a  real  talk?  '' 

11  This  way,  and  that's  all."  The  "  Hornet's  "  tones 
were  sharply  decisive.  "  You  want  to  cultivate  a  more 
philosophical  attitude.  Anyhow,  I've  told  you  all  I 
know.  Good-by." 

Colvin  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  left  the  booth.  He 
walked  out  into  the  noise  and  bustle  of  Broadway, 
heedless  of  the  jostling  crowd.  Following  the  bent 
and  also  the  training  of  his  mind,  he  tried  to  arrange 
in  a  logical  and  coherent  sequence  all  of  the  bits  of 
information  which  he  had  gleaned  from  his  asso- 
ciate. 

It  must  be  that  the  latter  had  at  last  some  definite 
clue  to  the  missing  package  —  the  Colvin  papers. 
There  was  no  other  reason  to  have  risked  the  tele- 
phone talk,  unless  that  was  the  fact  to  be  conveyed. 
Second,  the  "  Hornet "  had  reason  to  believe  that  the 
papers  were  in  the  hands  of  some  woman  who  had 
known  his  wife.  Third,  this  woman  had  disappeared 
with  them,  and  judging  from  what  Hempstead  had 
said  of  her  mercenary  tendencies,  she  was  determined 
to  be  paid  before  giving  them  up.  Fourth,  the  "  Hor- 
net "  was  not  quite  sure  where  she  was,  but  meant  to 
find  out  and  go  after  her  m  person.  Colvin  devoutly 
prayed  that  the  journey  might  be  taken  soon. 

This  waiting  game  was  getting  on  his  nerves.  He 
reflected  that  if  Whitefield  found  it  even  half  as  harass- 
ing as  he  did,  it  was  almost  in  his  heart  to  sympathize 
with  the  old  fox. 

Indeed,  he  would  have  had  ample  opportunity  to  do 
so,  if  he  could  at  that  minute  have  played  the  part  of 
Asmodeus,  and  have  lifted  the  roof  of  Whitefield's 
Study.  There  he  would  have  found  visible  proof  that 


152  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

the  enemy  was  quite  as  much  perturbed  and  annoyed 
as  either  he  or  the  "  Hornet "  could  possibly  have 
wished. 

Whitefield  was  sitting  before  the  big  table,  his  head 
bent  on  one  hand,  while  he  constantly  ran  the  scales 
with  the  other.  He  had  not  changed  his  attitude  for 
perhaps  half  an  hour,  when  young  Babcock  came  in 
with  his  usual  noiselessness. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said.  "  But  Mrs.  Whitefield 
wants  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible  on  a  matter  of 
importance." 

Whitefield  lifted  his  head.  Freda,  he  knew,  would 
not  have  sent  that  message  unless  she  really  had  some- 
thing worth  while  to  say. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  here,"  said  a  voice  behind  the  secretary. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,"  her  husband  grum- 
bled, as  Babcock  left  them  together,  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him.  "  What  do  you  think  those  idiots 
from  Headquarters  have  done  now?  Another  piece 
of  mismanagement.  .  .  .  Tramped  up  to  the  Mar- 
montel  this  morning,  broke  open  the  door,  or  some- 
thing equally  clumsy,  asked  this  Vernon  a  few  polite 
questions,  and  found  out  —  nothing.  Too  clever  for 
them  of  course.  Succeeded  in  convincing  them  he 
wasn't  Fletcher.  Blockheads !  " 

"  His  scar  is  exactly  like  Fletcher's,"  she  said. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Because  he  is  Fletcher."  Then, 
struck  by  her  tone,  he  glanced  up  at  her.  "  But  what 
do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

After  a  moment's  silence,  she  said  quietly: 

"  I  saw  him  this  morning." 

"  You  —  what  ?  "  he  was  immediately  alert.  His 
eyes  darted  at  her  from  under  his  heavy  brows.  She 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  153 

bore  the  scrutiny  perfectly,  lying  back  in  her  chair, 
languid,  weary,  impassive. 

"  I  saw  him  this  morning,"  she  reiterated.  "  I  went 
to  the  Marmontel,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Vernon.  I  made 
a  pretense  of  coming  on  a  sort  of  a  secret  mission  con- 
cerning my  rings,"  she  spoke  quite  smoothly.  "  But 
the  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Sammy  Cruger  had 
roused  my  curiosity.  I  didn't  want  any  second-hand 
opinions.  I  wanted  to  see  if  this  Vernon  was  either 
Ashe  Colvin,  or  Fletcher." 

"  And  did  you  find  out  ?  "  The  words  leaped  from 
his  lips,  his  shoulders  shook  a  little  as  he  bent  for- 
ward. 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  she  rejoined  slowly.  "  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  that  I  could  have  been  so 
baffled.  I  would  have  sworn  that  under  any  and  all 
disguises,  I  should  have  known  —  "  She  caught  her- 
self suddenly — "either  of  them." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  idea  in  your  mind?  "  he 
said  impatiently.  "  You  can't  be  absolutely  in  the 
dark?" 

She  passed  her  hand  wearily  over  her  hair.  "  It 
may  get  clearer  to  me,  but  just  now  I  feel  utterly 
confused.  I  had  forgotten  how  many  years  have 
gone  by.  That  scar  —  it  is  so  terribly  disfiguring. 
Of  course,  too,  I  haven't  seen  Fletcher  since  I  was 
first  married.  I  was  so  young  then,  you  know.  I 
merely  remember  him  as  a  tall,  weedy  boy  with  a 
sneering,  defiant  face,  and  a  frightful  scar  across  his 
right  cheek." 

"  You  ought  to  remember  Colvin  better."  There 
was  an  explicit  and  unpleasant  meaning  in  his  voice, 
but  the  only  sign  she  gave  was  a  more  pronounced 
pallor.  Her  voice  was  as  impersonal  as  ever. 


154  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Ashe  Colvin's  hair  was  a  light  brown,"  she  said 
reminiscently.  "  And  this  man's  is  almost  jet  black, 
and  very  gray  over  the  temples.  Ashe  had  a  pecul- 
iarity of  the  eyebrows.  One  of  them  had  a  sharp, 
little  peak,  a  sort  of  upward  twist  in  it.  This  man's 
eyebrows  are  perfectly  straight.  I  don't  remember 
Fletcher's  voice  at  all,  but  —  "  She  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  Whitefield's  presence.  Her  eyes  had  an 
odd,  introspective  look  as  if  she  swept  every  secret 
corner  of  her  memory  — "  there  was  something  in 
this  Vernon's  laugh,  and  now  and  then  a  tone  in  his 
voice  that  made  me  think  of  —  Ashe.  Vernon  speaks 
with  a  slight  French  accent,  though,  and  when  he 
makes  a  gesture,  which  isn't  often,  it's  a  Latin-race 
gesture.  Ashe  Colvin  went  to  school  in  France,  when 
he  was  a  boy." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  Whitefield  squared  about 
and  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  "  There  are  al- 
ways a  lot  of  coincidences  which  fit  every  case  when 
you're  looking  for  them.  Pshaw !  It's  crazy,  idiotic, 
to  suppose  that  Ashe  Colvin  and  Fletcher  would  both 
have  scars  exactly  alike.  This  man  is  Fletcher,  of 
course.  We  might  as  well  take  that  for  granted.  All 
right,"  straightening  his  big  shoulders ;  "  when  he's 
ready  to  play,  so  am  I.  I  wish,  though,"  his  long 
fingers  curved  in,  "  I  wish  I  knew  some  way  to  choke 
what  Muriel  knows  out  of  her." 

He  drummed  on  the  table  in  silence,  while  Freda  lay 
back  in  her  chair,  watching  him  beneath  her  half- 
closed  lids. 

He  stopped  his  finger  exercises  presently,  and  looked 
straight  at  her. 

"  I'm  just  wondering,"  he  said,  in  that  casual  tone 
she  knew  to  be  dangerous,  "  if  you  are  playing  per- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  155 

fectly  square  with  me  ?  That  visit  this  morning  with- 
out a  word  to  me  first.  Suspicious,  you  know.  You 
may  have  some  game  of  your  own  on.  Muriel  in- 
sinuated a  while  ago  that  you  needed  a  detective  to 
watch  you  more  than  she  did." 

"  Muriel ! "  She  spat  the  word.  The  slow  crim- 
son crept  up  her  neck,  and  settled  in  two  deep  spots 
on  her  cheek.  Her  mouth  tightened,  her  breast 
heaved.  Then  with  an  effort  she  forced  her  self-con- 
trol. 

"  Your  game  has  always  been  mine,"  she  said. 

"H'm!"  He  had  begun  to  drum  again.  "But 
you  loved  Colvin." 

"Loved  him?"  She  did  not  raise  her  voice,  but 
the  irony  smouldering  in  its  repressions  vibrated 
through  the  room,  and  seemed  to  ring  from  the  very 
walls.  "  I  ruined  him !  I  killed  him  for  all  I  know 
—  for  you !  " 

"  Not  for  me,  my  dear,  to  be  exact.  If  it  had  been 
just  a  choice  between  men,  you  would  not  have  wasted 
a  minute  deciding  the  question."  He  gave  a  short, 
dry  laugh.  "  Your  choice  was  really  between  Colvin 
and  the  social  code.  I  am  a  pretty  close  observer,  and 
I'll  bet  that  I  know  more  about  the  ins  and  outs  of 
your  character  than  any  one  living,  even  yourself. 
The  only  thing  you  really  love  is  your  pose.  You  sim- 
ply couldn't  give  up  being  the  beautiful,  saintly  Mrs. 
Whitefield.  That's  the  reason  I  can  always  bank  on 
you.  There's  one  man  anyway  who  has  no  illusions 
about  you." 

She  had  clutched  the  arms  of  her  chair  tightly  with 
her  hands,  the  red  spots  on  her  cheeks  deepened  almost 
to  purple,  she  never  lifted  her  eyes,  she  did  not  dare 
trust  herself  to  look  at  him. 


156  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

After  a  few  minutes'  silence  he  began  to  talk  again, 
apparently  forgetting  their  personal  differences  in  the 
more  serious  problem  before  him. 

"  Why  don't  they  act  ?  It  may  be,  though,  that 
Fletcher  is  still  trying  to  locate  Colvin." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  it  may  be  that,  or  anything  else."  Freda 
rose  impatiently.  "  But  all  this  speculation  is  idle.  It 
makes  me  nervous."  She  twitched  her  chair,  and 
moving  toward  the  door,  stopped  to  say :  "  You  will 
have  the  opportunity  to  see  this  Vernon  man  yourself 
to-morrow  night  at  the  dance.  I  sent  him  an  invita- 
tion as  you  directed." 

"Just  so,"  he  returned,  and  she  left  him  frowning 
and  furrowed.  But  his  meditations  were  soon  inter- 
rupted. Babcock  came  in  to  lay  a  note  upon  the 
table. 

"  This  just  came  by  special  delivery,  Mr.  White- 
field." 

Whitefield  turned  over  the  envelope  in  his  hand, 
looking  at  it  curiously.  It  was  addressed  in  a  large, 
upright,  feminine  hand  not  in  the  least  familiar.  He 
opened  it.  Upon  a  sheet  of  thick,  white  paper  was 
written : 

If  you  will  state  a  time  when  you  can  see  me  pri- 
vately, either  at  your  office,  or  at  your  house,  I  may 
be  able  to  give  you  some  valuable  information  in 
regard  to  certain  documents  which  were  stolen  from 
your  safe.  Address  reply  to, 

Miss  Hazel  Phillips, 
General  Delivery, 

Philadelphia. 

He  re-read  the  letter  a  second  time,  and  then  sat 
thoughtfully  considering  it. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  157 

"  It  may  be  a  fake,  it  may  be  to  draw  my  fire,"  he 
muttered  at  last;  "  but  if  it's  genuine  —  I've  got  'em !  " 
He  folded  the  sheet,  and  slipping  it  back  into  its  en- 
velope, put  it  in  his  pocket.  "  I'll  know  better  how  to 
handle  this  after  to-morrow  night.  As  Freda  says, 
I'll  have  an  opportunity  at  the  dance  to  see  this  Vernon 
for  myself." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  the  night  of  the  dance. 

"  Who's  the  new  man  that  Estelle  Gansevoort  and 
Martina  Vansittart  have  on  leash?  "  one  woman  paused 
to  inquire  of  another  on  the  marble  steps  leading  up 
to  the  reception  hall  in  the  Whitefield  house. 

"  A  Frenchman,  or  half -Frenchman,  I  believe. 
Somebody  worth  while,  or  else  they  wouldn't  have  him. 
Probably  an  officer  convalescing,  and  sent  over  here 
on  a  mission  of  some  sort.  That  scar  tells  the  story. 
Freda's  looking  as  good  as  new  to-night,  isn't  she  ?  " 
The  woman  stood  on  tiptoe  to  peer  over  the  heads 
above  her  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  where  Mrs.  White- 
field  and  Muriel  were  standing. 

"  She's  got  to,"  returned  the  other,  "  or  that  girl 
will  snuff  her  out  like  a  candle.  My  word!  She's 
struck  a  new  note  for  debutantes.  No  white  tulle 
with  a  touch  of  silver  for  hers." 

"  I  always  want  to  wear  smoked  glasses  when  I  look 
at  her.  She's  a  minx,  believe  me." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  toiled  up  the  staircase,  panting 
slightly,  but  looking  almost  shapely  in  diaphanous 
black  and  jet,  while  Estelle  stepped  lissomely  beside 
her,  resplendently  defying  age.  Colvin  followed  them. 

Freda,  aware  that  Muriel  was  sure  to  dazzle  the  eye 
of  the  beholder,  had  instinctively  and  with  subtle,  femi- 
nine wisdom,  chosen  to  present  a  complete  contrast, 
and  thus  avoid  all  odious  comparisons.  Gray  gauze 


For  the  first  time  he  could  scan  his  antagonist  of  this  cloak- 
and-lantern  duel.    Page  159. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  159 

as  impalpable  as  mist  fell  about  her,  its  sad  and  tender 
tone  unbrightened  by  the  sparkle  of  diamonds;  there 
was  only  the  opaque  luster  of  her  splendid  pearls. 

But  if  the  aunt  had  seen  fit  to  emulate  the  twilight, 
the  niece  had  borrowed  her  colors  from  the  sunrise. 
Muriel  was  a  picture  by  Goya.  She  was  in  yellow  — • 
yellow  with  the  tang  of  flame  in  it,  and  unsubdued. 

Whitefield,  standing  in  line  with  the  two,  bent  a 
glance  upon  Ashe  which  swept  him  like  a  scythe. 
Never  had  those  knife  eyes  been  so  keen  as  now,  when 
for  the  first  time  he  could  scan  his  antagonist  of  this 
cloak-and-lantern  duel.  Ashe  bore  the  scrutiny  easily. 
He  had  no  particular  fear  of  recognition  from  that 
quarter. 

The  two  men  murmured  a  few  conventional  words, 
Freda  standing  by  with  her  loveliest  smile  —  that 
sweet,  remote,  wistful  smile  which  had  haunted  the 
imagination  and  stirred  the  hearts  of  many  men.  And 
then  Colvin  turned  from  them  to  look  into  Muriel's 
eyes. 

As  she  greeted  him  under  the  gaze  of  her  guardians, 
for  Sammy  Cruger  hovered  just  behind  her  shoulder, 
a  sparkle  of  audacious  mischief  glimmered  on  her  lips. 

"  How  often  are  you  going  to  dance  with  me?  "  he 
asked,  lowering  his  voice. 

"  As  often  as  you  ask  me,"  she  laughed. 

"  But  that  will  include  every  one  for  the  entire  even- 
ing," he  said. 

"  All  but  this,"  as  some  tall  youth  came  up  to  claim 
her.  "  Come  for  me  after  the  fourth  dance,"  she 
whispered  back  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  walked  away. 

He  danced  dutifully  with  his  Aunt  Estelle,  and  en- 
joyed it,  but  he  unduti  fully  offered  thanks  that  his 
Aunt  Martina,  considering  her  bulk  and  weight,  had 


160  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

no  such  frivolous  inclinations.  Then  he  danced  with 
various  women  to  whom  Estelle  presented  him.  And 
then  —  after  several  centuries  —  the  fourth  was  over. 

Muriel  was  free  to  dance  with  him !  Muriel  was  in 
his  arms!  And  the  scene  was  no  longer  a  mere  pag- 
eant; this  handsome,  elaborately  decorated  ballroom, 
these  dancers  —  whirling  hues  of  orchid  and  rose, 
italicized  by  the  sharp  black  of  men's  coats. 

He  was  one  with  it  —  the  gaiety,  the  music,  the 
movement.  They  danced  into  the  sea  of  light.  The 
syncopated  beat  of  the  measure  was  in  his  blood.  Were 
they  really  bounded  by  walls,  the  confines  of  a  room? 
He  unleashed  his  imagination,  and  let  it  wander  free. 
They  floated  through  space  to  the  rhythm  of  the  uni- 
verse—  he  and  this  beautiful  girl  whose  narrow, 
drooping  eyes  were  wide  now  and  full  of  the  zest 
of  life. 

When  the  music  finally  stopped,  and  they  with  it, 
they  found  themselves  before  a  tall,  trellised  screen 
covered  with  vines.  Muriel,  quick  to  think  and  quick 
to  act,  drew  him  into  the  recess  behind  it.  In  front 
of  them  was  a  long  window  leading  out  upon  a  small 
balcony  overlooking  the  narrow  garden.  She  opened 
this,  and  stepped  out;  and  Ashe,  following,  closed  the 
barrier  behind  them. 

By  chance  —  or  was  it  by  chance?  —  a  long,  dark, 
velvet  cape  hung  across  the  railing  of  the  balcony.  He 
picked  it  up  and  wrapped  it  around  her,  eclipsing  her 
sunrise  splendors. 

Ashe  inhaled  a  deep  breath.  The  quiet,  serene  sky, 
the  shadowy  garden!  A  city  asleep,  its  mighty,  in- 
sistent voice  as  faint  as  the  murmur  of  a  tired  sea! 
Dim,  beautiful  world!  And  Muriel  with  her  rich, 
mysterious  loveliness,  the  dusk  velvet  of  her  purple 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  161 

cloak,  shared  and  was  one  with  the  glamor  of  the 
magnetic  night. 

Imperceptibly  she  moved  nearer.  The  slight  con- 
tact thrilled  him.  He  looked  down  at  her  quickly. 
Her  head  was  thrown  back  almost  against  his  shoulder. 
Her  eyes  were  gazing  straight  into  his. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  as  if  he 
could  never  let  her  go.  For  each  of  them,  thought  was 
submerged  in  feeling,  profound  and  passionate.  He 
kissed  her  upraised  lips.  Then  reason  asserted  itself, 
and  remembrance.  He  pushed  her  away. 

"  That's  all,"  he  said  in  a  harsh,  broken  voice.  "  For 
always ! " 

"  It's  not  all,"  she  whispered.  "  You  haven't  yet 
told  me  that  you  love  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  And  you  know  it."  He  laughed, 
but  no  one  could  have  associated  happiness  with  that 
dreary  mirth.  It  clinked  dully  like  a  spurious  coin. 
"  I'm  forty,  and  you  are  nineteen,"  he  said  moodily. 
"  There's  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  us,  which  even 
love  can't  bridge." 

"  You're  not  sincere  now,"  she  accused,  with  that 
direct  way  of  going  to  the  heart  of  a  matter,  which  al- 
ways aroused  in  him  admiration  for  both  her  intelli- 
gence and  her  candor.  "  The  difference  in  our  ages 
doesn't  really  count." 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  his  hands  trembling  a  little 
as  he  did  so.  Then  he  flicked  the  match  over  the  bal- 
cony and  watched  its  tiny  spark  of  light  whirl  down 
through  the  darkness. 

"  I  mean  what  those  years  span."  He  leaned  back 
against  the  railing,  his  arms  folded,  facing  her. 
"  I  would  hate  to  ask  you  to  look  over  that  bridge." 

"  Oh,  I  am  ready  to  look,"  she  cried.     "  I  have  been 


162  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

right  along.  Only,  you  haven't  thought  me  worth  your 
confidence." 

"  What  nonsense !  I  know  your  courage,  my  dear. 
That's  one  reason  I'm  disillusionizing  you.  Since  you 
are  certainly  going  to  say  good-by  to  me,  it  would  be 
much  easier  for  my  vanity  if  we  should  part  now,  while 
you  could  remember  me  with  a  little  regretful  senti- 
ment." 

"  I'm  not  one  to  care  much  for  regretful  sentiment," 
she  said  brusquely.  "  I  prefer  to  look  into  your  tire- 
some old  gulf." 

"  You  are  merciless,  daring  lady.  All  right,  then. 
No  use  to  harp  again  upon  the  fact  that  I  am  forty 
years  old.  But  I  will  mention  it  in  order  to  say  that 
when  I  was  twenty-five,  my  name  —  a  good  name, 
too  —  was  so  considerably  tarnished  that  it  was  a  case 
of  getting  out  of  Society,  or  being  kicked  out  of  it. 
So  I  got  out." 

"  You  are  telling  facts."  In  the  dim  light  he  could 
see  that  her  eyes  were  narrowed ;  the  warmt{i  had  gone 
out  of  her  voice,  it  was  as  cool  as  if  she  were  discuss- 
ing with  him  some  quite  impersonal  problem.  "  You 
are  telling  facts,  but  you  don't  give  the  reasons  for 
them." 

"  I  can't,"  he  answered  curtly.  "  It's  one  of  those 
things  that  is  not  done."  His  smile  was  bitter.  "  To 
you,  I  will  say  that  my  intentions  and  my  acts  were 
honest,  or  seemed  so  to  me.  But  I  was  in  a  position, 
where,  if  I  had  tried  to  clear  myself,  I  should  have  vio- 
lated every  article  of  the  unwritten  code  of  a  decent 
sport."  He  lighted  another  cigarette,  and  in  the  mo- 
ment or  so  of  silence,  she  made  no  comment  on  what 
he  had  said. 

"  You  are  too  young  to  know  that  the  essence  of  life 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  163 

lies  in  our  hopes  and  dreams,"  he  went  on.  "  The  mo- 
ment this  —  this  thing  overtook  me,  my  —  well,  what 
you  might  call  my  vision  of  achievement  —  was  dis- 
sipated like  smoke.  There  was  no  more  work  for  me 
to  do.  I  was  dead  and  buried  —  dead  and  buried  for 
fifteen  years.  And  then  you  came,  and  I  discovered 
that  the  ambitions  which  I  thought  dead  were  only  ly- 
ing fallow,  and  were  really  stronger  than  ever. 

"  Muriel,  if  I  found  myself  involved  in  a  set  of 
peculiar  circumstances  years  ago,  I  am  in  a  position 
to-day  which  is  still  more  odd.  You  say  that  I  have 
failed  to  give  you  my  full  confidence.  I  shall  do  so 
now." 

"Yes?"  Her  voice  held  a  curious,  waiting  qual- 
ity. 

He  glanced  quickly  at  the  window  into  the  ballroom, 
saw  that  it  was  tightly  closed,  drew  nearer  to  her,  and 
sank  his  voice  still  lower. 

"  Very  well,  then.  To  come  back,  I  have  got  to 
ruin  your  uncle  morally  as  far  as  the  public  is  con- 
cerned, and  probably  financially.  That  prospect  with 
you  out  of  it  leaves  me  cold.  I  have  no  feeling  of 
either  hatred  or  revenge.  I  left  that  sort  of  thing  be- 
hind me  years  ago.  It  is  the  fortunes  of  war,  and  I 
say  let  the  best  man  win;  only,  I  mean  to  be  the  best 
man.  As  for  him,  he  has  faced  this  sort  of  thing  from 
one  source  or  another  for  years.  But  it's  just  as  I  told 
you  the  other  day,  the  rotten  part  of  the  whole  thing 
is,  that  I  am  not  righting  in  the  open.  I'm  under 
cover,  and  I'm  using  any  old  weapon  that  comes  to 
hand." 

She  laughed,  and  slipped  her  fingers  through  his  arm. 
"  Bully  for  you,"  she  whispered.  "  You're  a  man 
after  my  own  heart." 


164  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

He  laughed,  too,  in  involuntary  pleasure  and  amuse- 
ment, and  pressed  her  arm  closer  against  him.  Then 
he  moved  resolutely  away ;  his  face  became  deeply  seri- 
ous. 

"  It  won't  do,  Muriel.  I  can't  and  won't  let  myself 
go.  You  must  understand  that  in  order  to  offer  you 
a  clear  name  of  my  own,  I've  got  to  blacken  irreparably 
your  family  name;  and  there's  nothing  whatever  of 
honor  or  achievement  in  the  matter.  It's  merely  a 
plain  showing-up  of  your  Uncle  William.  And  so, 
my  dear,  to-night  is  good-by  to  any  sentiment  between 
us.  Hereafter,  we  meet  only  on  the  ground  of  friend- 
ship, for  I  think  I  can  still  be  of  service  to  you.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart,  but  I'm  going  on  my  own  way, 
and  fight  this  thing  out  to  the  bitter  end.  It  sounds 
like  canting  hypocrisy  to  say  so,  and  I  don't  suppose 
you'll  believe  me;  but  nothing  on  earth  would  make 
me  so  happy  as  to  take  you  with  me,  drop  this  whole 
beastly  affair,  and  start  off  for  the  other  side  of  the 
world." 

"  And  why  not?  "  she  asked  softly. 

His  jaw  set.  Again  he  folded  his  arms  tightly 
across  his  chest.  "  No.  I  can't  do  that  even  for  you. 
I've  bungled  things  sadly;  I  ought  never  to  have  let 
you  know  that  I  cared.  But  my  mission  now  is  to  save 
you  from  yourself  and  from  me.  And  that  is  what 
I  am  going  to  do." 

"Suppose,  I  don't  want  to  be  saved?"  She  had 
plucked  a  leaf  from  the  vine  on  the  wall  beside  her, 
and  was  tearing  it  to  bits. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Do  you  think,  I  am 
going  to  take  advantage  of  your  splendid  courage,  your 
youth,  your — ?  " 

"  Oh,  you've  got  such  Victorian  ideas  about  youth," 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  165 

she  moaned.  "  I  love  it  in  you,  but  if  you  would  only 
understand  that  the  girls  of  my  age  to-day  know  a  lot 
about  life." 

"  No  one  knows  a  lot  about  life  unless  he  has  lived 
it,  and  you  have  not.  Your  cleverness  and  keenness 
of  observation  are  substitutes  of  no  value.  You  — " 

"  I  don't  think  all  those  things  have  any  bearing  on 
the  matter,"  coolly  interrupting  him. 

She  drew  her  breath  in  sharply,  as  if  she  hesitated 
a  frightened  moment  on  the  brink  of  un fathomed 
depths.  And  then  she  plunged,  impelled  by  her  own 
sheer,  uncalculating  daring. 

"  I  know  perfectly  what  I  want  —     It's  you." 

The  moving  ardor  of  her  voice !  It  stirred  his  heart 
unbearably.  For  the  moment  —  only  for  the  moment, 
to  do  him  justice  —  he  forgot  reason,  caution,  every- 
thing. He  threw  his  own  excellent  arguments  "to  the 
wind.  But  although  he  stepped  toward  her,  murmur- 
ing broken,  passionate  words,  he  stopped  short  before 
he  reached  her.  It  was  the  bravest  act  of  his  life,  his 
supreme  effort  of  self-control.  When  he  spoke  at 
last,  his  voice  was  husky,  almost  inaudible. 

"  That's  a  choice,  Muriel,  of  which  no  sane  person 
could  approve." 

"  You  talk  like  Uncle  William,"  she  cried  rebel- 
liously.  "  Just  because  you  are  considerably  older  than 
I  am,  you  think  you  can  decide  what  is  best  for 
me.  ...  As  if  anybody  ever  could  for  another  per- 
son. .  .  .  And  you  offer  the  usual  conventional  rea- 
sons. But  .  .  .  you  can't  carry  it  off,  Mr.  Vernon !  " 
She  waved  the  tattered  ivy-leaf  triumphantly  across  his 
face.  "  You  talk  so  safely  and  sanely  about  how  I'm 
to  play  my  game  of  life.  What  about  yours?  Are 
you  playing  it  safely  and  sanely?  Far  from  it. 


166  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

You're  playing  outside  the  lines,  under  cover  of  dark- 
ness.    You  acknowledge  it." 

He  couldn't  help  laughing;  she  had  countered  so 
neatly.  "  Necessity,"  he  said  quickly.  "  Anyway, 
I'm  a  man ;  you're  a  woman.  The  rulings  and  the 
handicaps  are  different." 

"  Forget  it,"  nonchalantly  she  brushed  this  aside. 
"  Now  I  want  the  floor.  I  didn't  interrupt  you  — 
much.  So  you  will  please  show  me  the  same  court- 
esy." 

She  rushed  on  impetuously,  without  giving  him  a 
chance  to  answer. 

"  I  know  myself  much  better  than  any  one  else 
knows  me.  They've  tried  to  repress  and  stifle  me 
into  bud-hood,  when  I  was  really  a  full-blown  woman. 
But  I'm  perfectly  sure  of  what  I  want.  I  always  have 
been  in  a  way.  You  spoke  a  while  ago  of  your  vision 
of  achievement.  Well,  I've  got  mine." 
•  "  What  is  it?  "  he  asked.  Her  mental  processes  al- 
ways interested  him  intensely.  "  What  are  some  of  the 
things  you  think  you  really  want  ?  " 

"  All  that  you,  or  I,  or  anybody  wants  are  just  the 
things  we  think  we  want,"  she  flashed  at  him.  "  Well, 
then,"  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  her  face  shone 
with  the  beautiful,  untried  enthusiasm  of  youth,  "  I 
want  —  I  want  the  crest  of  the  wave,  the  wine-cup 
brimming.  I  want  love,  romance,  ambition,  struggle 
—  all  the  work,  and  all  the  play  there  is.  Most  girls 
have  yearnings  to  do  things.  They  want  to  be  artists, 
or  actresses,  or  writers,  or  else  do  settlement  work  and 
redeem  the  world.  I  don't.  I  have  not  any  gifts  to 
cultivate.  The  Whitefields  are  not  artistic,  nor  al- 
truistic. But  they  know  what  they  want,  and  they  go 
straight  for  it. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  167 

"  I  wish  to  help  some  man  make  a  career,"  she  cried. 
"  I  wish  to  build  with  him.  These  immature  boys  I 
have  to  play  with  bore  me  to  suicide,  and  the  men  seem 
so  piffling.  They  would  like  to  marry  me,  and  have 
a  good  time  on  my  money.  La-la !  "  She  snapped  the 
fingers  of  both  hands  in  the  air.  "  I  think  not. 

"  Do  you  know  the  only  kind  of  a  man  I  will  ever 
marry?"  Her  voice  now  was  like  bubbling  honey, 
her  emerald  eyes  sparkled  with  fire  and  laughter.  "  He 
must  be  a  brilliant,  intellectual  man  who  knows  many 
phases  of  life  and  the  world,  who  won't  give  up  some- 
thing he's  started  out  to  do,  even  for  the  woman  he 
says  he  loves;  who  fights  in  the  dark,  if  necessary,  and 
fights  to  win." 

She  ceased  to  describe  her  hypothetical  man,  and  be- 
came naively  personal. 

"I  don't  care  if  you  do  ruin  Uncle  William;  he's 
due  for  it.  If  you  do  not,  somebody  else  will.  That 
is,  if  they  can ;  you've  always  got  to  make  that  reserva- 
tion, when  you  speak  of  Uncle  William  —  And  it's 
awfully  amusing  when  you  talk  about  staining  my 
family  name.  My  grandfather,  who  was  an  unscrupu- 
lous old  wretch  I've  heard,  put  several  black  marks 
against  it.  Uncle  William  has  spilled  the  indelible  ink 
bottle  all  over  it.  And  Fletcher  Hempstead,  who  Un- 
cle William  says  is  the  '  Hornet,'  has  done  his  little 
best  to  add  to  the  general  discoloration.  By  the  way," 
quickly,  "  you  haven't  kept  your  promise,  and  found 
him  for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  asserted. 

"You  have?"  excitedly.  "And  when  do  I  meet 
him?" 

"  Never,  if  I  can  help  it.     I  shall  be  the  go-between." 

"Bi;t—?    But— ?"  she  cried. 


168  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  That's  all  I  can  say  at  present."  Colvin's  tone 
was  final. 

She  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  There  was  a  pause. 
Some  one  opened  a  window  beyond  them,  and  the  mu- 
sic came  more  clearly  to  their  ears. 

Muriel  sighed,  turned,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
door  as  if  to  push  it  open. 

"  You  really  refuse  a  proposal  very  tactfully,  Mr. 
Vernon,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder.  Under  the  light- 
ness of  her  tone  there  was  a  hurt  note  which  tortured 
him. 

"  Oh,  my  child !  Say,  instead,  that  I  have  broken 
my  heart,  trying  to  save  you  from  an  impossible  mis- 
take." 

"  Time  wasted."  There  was  unreadable  mockery 
in  her  eyes.  She  pushed  wider  the  window,  and  tossed 
her  purple  cloak  back  over  the  railing  of  the  balcony. 
Then  the  light  and  the  music  engulfed  her. 

Colvin  smoked  his  cigarette  case  empty  before  he 
returned  to  the  ballroom.  As  he  stood  inside  again, 
waiting  a  moment  for  his  eyes  to  become  accustomed 
to  the  dazzle,  he  saw  his  Aunt  Estelle  signalling  him 
from  across  the  room. 

"My  patience!"  she  said.  "William  Whitefield 
and  Sammy  Cruger  have  been  on  Martina's  and  my 
trail  all  evening.  They're  like  two  hungry  blood- 
hounds, and  Martina  and  I  have  been  fleeing  Elizas, 
tipping  about  on  cakes  of  mighty  thin  ice.  Only  cham- 
pagne and  our  feminine  love  of  intrigue  have  enabled 
us  to  go  through  the  ordeal." 

"  I  should  never  have  put  you  in  such  a  position," 
he  said  with  compunction. 

"We  love  it.  What  is  life  without  excitement? 
But,  my  dear  boy,  do  be  cautious.  I  saw  Freda's  eyes 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  169 

as  she  looked  after  you  this  evening,  and  they  — • 
Well,  they  made  me  nervous,  they  were  so  deadly.  I 
suppose  I  am  perfectly  absurd,  but  women  do  have 
intuitions.  And  I  feel —  Oh,  I  can't  just  describe 
it — •  But  I  feel  as  if  you  and  Freda  were  on  the  eve 
of  some  terrible  reckoning." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  then,"  he  said  curtly.  Both 
his  face  and  voice  were  hard.  Then  he  smiled  down  at 
her.  "  Those  feminine  intuitions  are  usually  nerves. 
Don't  you—?" 

He  stopped  short,  staring  before  him.  Muriel  and 
a  tall  man  were  skirting  the  dancers,  evidently  making 
their  way  from  the  ballroom.  Ashe's  brain  whirled. 
He  peered  again,  refusing  to  accept  the  first  testimony 
of  his  eyes. 

But  there  could  be  no  mistaking  that  lithe  figure, 
that  haggard,  cynical  face. 

It  was  the  "  Hornet  "  1 


CHAPTER  XIII 

COLVIN  stared,  dazed,  doubtful,  unwilling  for  once 
to  accept  the  convincing  evidence  of  his  own  eyes. 

So  far  he  had  glimpsed  only  one  side  of  his  sinister 
partner,  a  "  Hornet  "  under  cover  and  on  the  defensive, 
wary,  absorbed  in  calculations  and  cautions,  yet  be- 
guiling the  tedium  of  inaction,  as  is  ever  the  habit  of 
the  freebooter  and  adventurer  in  his  moments  of  re- 
pose, with  sage  and  philosophic  reflections.  Now 
Ashe,  all  unprepared  for  the  metamorphosis,  mind  and 
eye  both  rejecting  the  audacity  of  it  as  a  thing  in- 
credible, was  to  witness  the  "  Hornet"  in  a  direct  at- 
tack, poised,  lancelike,  ready  to  sting. 

It  was  some  seconds  before  he  could  grasp  the  fact 
that  this  was  really  Hempstead.  The  suggestion  of  a 
"  double  "  presented  itself  to  his  mind,  but  only  to  be 
immediately  cast  aside.  Here  was  no  case  of  chance 
resemblance ;  the  man  with  Muriel  was  the  "  Hornet  " 
himself,  and  none  other.  The  very  smoothness  of  that 
unmarred  cheek  —  unmarred  to  the  observer  at  least, 
as  a  result  of  Wimms's  tutelage  and  his  own  constant 
practice  —  proclaimed  him.  There  were  other  proofs 
of  his  identity:  an  occasional  shifty  flicker  of  the  eye, 
his  odd,  twisted  smile,  and  above  all,  a  mischievous,  ma- 
licious elation,  which  Ashe  if  no  one  else  perceived,  and 
which  was  more  characteristic  of  the  man  than  any 
mark  in  the  whole  Bertillon  catalogue.  Evidently  the 
"  Hornet  "  was  enjoying  himself  —  as  much  perhaps 
in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  outwitted  his  colleague 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  171 

and  had  gained  speech  with  Muriel,  as  in  the  fact 
that  he  had  undoubtedly  "  put  one  over  "  on  their  com- 
mon adversary. 

What  his  reason  might  be  for  this  daring  excursion 
Colvin  could  not  imagine. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  "  Hornet's  "  strategy  had 
been  very  simple  and  direct.  A  few  days  previous  to 
the  dance,  a  financier  who  had  extensive  interests  in 
South  and  Central  America  had  introduced  to  White- 
field  a  Mr.  James  Prentice,  the  representative  of  a  num- 
ber of  companies  in  that  part  of  the  world  which  held 
concessions  or  franchises  for  traction  lines  in  several 
important  cities. 

Mr.  Prentice  naturally  had  a  proposition  to  submit, 
and  he  presented  it  so  attractively  that  Whitefield's 
cynical  and  flagging  interest  was  caught,  and  he  was 
led  into  making  an  investigation  of  the  other's  claims. 
Then  upon  examination  the  project  appeared  so  excel- 
lent, the  promises  of  a  large  return,  exaggerated  though 
they  had  sounded,  proved  to  have  been  so  conservatively 
stated,  that  the  traction  man  took  up  the  subject  in 
earnest. 

Notwithstanding  the  personal  anxieties  which  had 
absorbed  him  since  the  night  of  the  burglary  —  per- 
haps, indeed,  because  of  them,  since  it  could  not  have 
failed  to  strike  him  that  South  America  might  prove  a 
refuge  under  certain  circumstances  —  he  had  had  a 
number  of  interviews  with  Prentice,  and  they  had  dis- 
cussed the  matter  more  or  less  in  detail. 

There  were  certain  preliminary  complications  —  re- 
strictions in  some  cases  against  the  acquirement  of  the 
properties  by  foreigners,  and  things  of  that  sort  — 
which  would  have  to  be  straightened  out,  and  Prentice 
had  suggested  that  he  personally  should  see  what  could 


172  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

be  done  through  the  use  of  his  influence  with  the  State 
Department  at  Washington. 

They  were  now  waiting  for  some  word  from  the 
Department,  and  consequently  it  was  no  surprise  to 
Whitefield  when  late  in  the  evening  he  was  summoned 
to  the  telephone  by  a  call  from  his  new  associate. 

Prentice's  voice,  harsh,  a  little  unpleasant,  but  un- 
deniably forceful,  grated  to  him  over  the  wire. 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you  at  such  an  hour,  but 
I've  got  news  from  Washington  that  will  not  wait. 
That  old  granny  you  have  over  there  has  muddled 
things  just  as  I  feared  he  would,  and  the  Secretary  is 
clear  out  of  line.  We've  got  to  get  somebody  else  on 
the  job  quick  —  somebody  that'll  know  how  to  put 
things  straight.  I've  picked  out  the  man  all  right,  and 
I  think  I  know  just  how  it  can  be  handled,  but  before 
going  ahead,  I'll  need  your  O.  K.  to  it.  Isn't  there 
some  way  that  we  can  get  together  for  about  fifteen 
minutes?  I  don't  like  to  talk  over  the  telephone,  of 
course,  and  it's  rather  important  that  we  settle  on  a 
program  without  delay.  I'm  talking  from  the  Biltmore 
now,  and  I  can  meet  you  here,  or  at  your  club,  or  if  it's 
more  convenient  to  you,  I'll  take  a  cab  and  come  up  to 
your  house." 

Whitefield  hesitated  half  a  second.  "  Make  it  at  the 
house,"  he  decided.  "  My  wife's  got  a  party  on  to- 
night, and  they've  swept  over  the  place  like  locusts, 
but  I  guess  I  can  find  a  corner  for  us.  My  study's 
free ;  I've  locked  'em  out  of  that.  How  soon  will  you 
be  here  ?  " 

"  Five  or  ten  minutes." 

"  Good.  I'll  be  down  by  the  hall  door  waiting  for 
you.  Otherwise,  you  might  run  the  chance  of  being 
picked  up  as  a  suspicious  character,"  he  chuckled. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  173 

"  There's  a  small  regiment  of  Hawkshaws  on  duty 
here  to-night." 

"  Thanks  for  the  tip,"  drawled  the  other.  "  In  that 
case,  I  will  leave  my  burglar  tools  at  home." 

One  of  the  guests  who  was  leaving  early  stopped  to 
shake  hands  with  his  host  as  the  latter  lingered  down 
beside  the  entrance. 

"Why  this  outpost  service?"  he  laughed.  "Are 
you  checking  us  up  as  we  go  to  see  that  no  one  makes 
oft"  with  the  spoons?  " 

"  No,"  Whitefield  grinned  in  return ;  "  merely  wait- 
ing for  one  of  the  two  things  that  are  always  welcome 
—  a  pretty  woman  and  a  chance  to  make  money. 
Guess  which  it  is  ?  " 

"  The  pretty  woman  every  time."  The  man  shook 
an  admonishing  finger.  "  Fie,  fie,  and  likewise, 
naughty,  naughty.  Have  I  really  stumbled  on  a  scan- 
dal in  'igh  life  —  midnight  rendezvous,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing?" 

"  Not  to-night,"  Whitefield  grinned  again.  He  had 
been  drinking  rather  freely  this  evening,  although  he 
only  showed  it  in  a  touch  of  added  mellowness.  "  No 
pretty  woman  wanting  money  this  time,  just  an  ugly 
man  coming  to  bring  me  some  —  I  hope." 

"  Hope?  Sure  thing,  you  mean,  if  the  fellow  ever 
gets  into  your  clutches.  He'll  be  lucky  if  he  saves  his 
shirt.  By  Jove,  if  I  had  your  pile,  I'd  begin  to  let 
up." 

It  was  all  good-humored  jesting  of  course;  but 
Whitefield's  gaze  as  it  followed  the  other  out  through 
the  door  held  more  than  a  tinge  of  irony.  If  the  world 
only  knew  how  much  of  that  reputed  "  pile  "  of  his  was 
false  pretense!  A  call  for  a  show-down  now  would 
mean  his  ruin.  And  it  might  so  easily  come.  If 


174  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Hempstead  or  Ashe  Colvin  were  able  to  force  his  hand 
at  this  stage  of  the  game,  he  was  lost.  He  passed  his 
hand  quickly  before  his  eyes,  as  if  to  brush  away  the 
shadow  of  apprehension  which  was  continually  pla- 
guing him,  and  stepping  abruptly  into  a  little  lounging 
room  at  the  side  of  the  hall,  took  down  a  bottle  and 
glass  from  the  closet  and  poured  himself  out  a  stiff 
drink. 

It  restored  and  steadied  him ;  so  that  returning  to  the 
doorway,  he  was  able  a  few  moments  later  to  greet  his 
expected  visitor  with  perfect  equanimity. 

The  "  Hornet  " —  for  it  was  the  "  Hornet  "  of  course 
—  was  never  in  better  mood,  easy,  assured,  and  unde- 
niably distinguished  in  appearance. 

"  I'm  afraid  this  intrusion  is  unpardonable,"  he  said, 
as  he  and  Whitefield  shook  hands ;  "  but  — " 

"  No  '  buts.'  "  Whitefield  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
and  guided  him  along  the  hall  to  his  study.  "  Business 
is  always  excuse  enough  with  me  for  anything.  And 
really  it's  a  relief  to  get  away  for  a  few  minutes  from 
all  that  cackle  and  fluff."  He  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  stairway,  down  which  was  borne  to  them  a  spray 
of  dance  music  and  the  babble  of  voices  and  light 
laughter. 

"  Wait  a  second."  He  paused  before  the  door  of 
the  study  to  fumble  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  for  the  key. 
"  Ah,  here  it  is.  As  I  told  you,  I've  kept  this  room 
locked  to-night,"  he  explained,  as  they  entered,  and  he 
switched  on  the  lights.  "  In  a  big  crush  like  this,  one 
never  knows  just  who  might  be  able  to  get  in.  And 
once  burned,  twice  shy." 

"  Ah  ?  So  this  is  the  room  where  your  burglary 
occurred?"  The  "Hornet"  glanced  interestedly 
around,  and  quite  naturally  stepped  toward  the  safe  to 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  175 

bend  a  scrutiny  upon  it  —  just  how  minute  and  search- 
ing a  scrutiny  Whitefield  did  not  realize. 

"A  Clinedinst  and  Kipp?"  he  commented,  turning 
back  to  his  host.  "  Why,  that's  generally  considered 
the  last  word  in  safe-building.  How  was  it  opened ; 
with  a  drill,  or  nitroglycerine?  " 

"  Oh,  this  isn't  the  one  which  was  cracked,"  White- 
field  hastened  to  enlighten  him.  "  This  is  one  which  I 
have  had  put  in  since ;  twice  as  big  and  twice  as  strong 
as  the  old  one  was.  Double  shell,  two  separate  com- 
binations, every  late  improvement  that  you  can  think 
of.  The  manufacturers  guarantee  that  it  would  take 
the  most  expert  crook  ten  hours  of  uninterrupted  la- 
bor to  get  on  the  inside  of  it.  But  even  so,  I  am 
taking  no  chances." 

The  "  Hornet "  detected  a  certain  boastful  note,  a 
slight  expansiveness  which  betrayed  Whitefield's  re- 
cent indulgences. 

"Wired  up  with  an  alarm  system,  of  course?"  he 
probed,  and  as  the  other  assented,  he  stepped  forward 
again  to  run  his  hand  tentatively  down  the  safe's 
smooth,  shiny,  black  side. 

"  However,  this  isn't  what  I  came  to  see  you  about," 
he  broke  off,  after  having  shown  just  the  proper  de- 
gree of  interest  under  the  circumstances  —  not  a  bit 
too  much,  and  not  a  bit  too  little. 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  drawing  it  forward  to- 
ward the  desk  where  Whitefield  had  seated  himself, 
began  to  outline  the  nature  of  the  emergency  which 
he  had  mentioned  in  his  telephone  message;  but  he 
had  hardly  begun  to  speak  before  the  other  interrupted 
him  to  press  the  button  and  give  orders  for  something 
to  drink. 

"  Scotch  and  soda  for  me,"  the  "  Hornet  "  responded 


176  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

to  the  invitation,  as  a  man  servant  entered  in  answer  to 
Whitefield's  ring. 

"  That's  good  enough  for  anybody.  Make  it  two, 
Williams.  And  hand  the  cigars  to  Mr.  Prentice  before 
you  go.  Lots  of  time,  Prentice,  lots  of  time.  Make 
yourself  comfortable.  I'd  rather  a  hundred  times  be 
down  here  than  up-stairs."  He  raised  his  head,  as 
the  servant  opened  the  door  to  go  out,  and  the  noise 
from  the  rooms  above  broke  for  a  moment  upon  their 
ears.  "  An  isle  of  safety,"  he  smiled,  "  in  a  sea  of 
skirts  and  eats." 

The  "  Hornet "  sipped  deliberately  at  the  tall  glass 
with  its  bubbles  tinkling  as  they  rose  and  broke  upon 
the  surface  like  the  chime  of  fairy  bells.  Whitefield, 
less  fastidious,  drained  his  glass  incontinently.  He  was 
obviously  in  that  stage  of  half-intoxication  where  a 
little  judicious  urging  would  put  him  completely  under 
the  influence.  But  it  was  no  part  of  the  "  Hornet's  " 
scheme  to  get  his  uncle  drunk.  Like  a  dutiful  nephew 
he  was  concerned  to  see  that  his  relative  kept  coldly 
sober,  although  this  rather  from  practical  than  senti- 
mental motives. 

He  wanted  the  Whitefield  wits  clear,  and  the  White- 
field  judgment  unimpaired;  for  this  was  no  game  of 
hocus-pocus  which  he  was  playing  upon  his  kinsman, 
no  seductive  swindle,  but  a  legitimate  project. 

He  had  hinted  to  Colvin  that  evening  at  the  Dome 
that  he  had  a  number  of  irons  in  the  fire,  and  had  also 
confided  something  of  his  weary  distaste  with  the  ways 
of  crime,  and  an  ambition  to  rehabilitate  himself  in  the 
world  in  which  he  had  been  born. 

Mere  vaporings  of  a  "  dope  "  dreamer,  Ashe  had  be- 
lieved this  at  the  time.  "  When  the  Devil  was  sick, 
the  Devil  a  saint  would  be,"  he  thought.  But  he  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  177 

failed  to  take  into  account  the  Whitefield  will  and 
stubborn  strength  of  purpose. 

With  the  "  Hornet "  it  was  no  snivelling  "  change 
of  heart "  of  the  ordinary,  little  crook  in  moments  of 
discouragement  and  defeat.  He  had  no  yearnings  for 
reform,  no  prickings  of  conscience  to  bother  him.  He 
was  a  recognized  leader  in  his  craft,  applauded,  envied, 
looked  up  to,  an  indubitable  big  frog  in  the  murky 
puddle  of  crime.  But  his  joy  of  empire  was  spoiled  by 
the  smallness  and  dirtiness  of  the  puddle,  not  to  men- 
tion the  thronging  dangers  on  its  shores  which  kept 
him  continually  diving  out  of  sight,  or  burrowing  into 
the  mud  for  concealment.  He  was  convinced  that  for 
a  frog  of  his  constructive,  daring,  and  resourceful 
talents,  there  were  opportunities  in  that  wider  and 
more  protected  pool  which  he  was  pleased  to  call  the 
"  big  game "  of  organized  society.  He  wanted  to 
foregather  with  the  pickerel,  the  swordfish,  and  the 
shark,  and  operate  within  the  law,  rather  than  out- 
side of  it. 

Yet  in  his  yearning  for  the  waters  of  respectability, 
he  was  also  aware  that  he  would  have  to  seek  some 
cove  or  corner  where  his  previous  career  was  unknown. 
His  opportunities  in  New  York,  or  even  in  the  United 
States,  were  apt  to  be  limited  by  the  jack-in-the-box 
quality  of  a  "  past."  And  with  such  a  gaudy  and  be- 
dizened past  as  the  "  Hornet "  had  acquired,  the  pos- 
sibility of  having  it  pop  from  under  its  lid  and  con- 
front him  at  some  inopportune  moment  was  too  dis- 
astrous to  be  considered. 

South  America,  however,  presented  no  such  limita- 
tion. Even  from  his  boyhood,  when  his  imagination 
had  been  stirred  by  an  old  book  of  travels  which  had 
somehow  fallen  into  his  hands,  it  had  been  the  goal 


i;8  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

of  his  dreams,  and  early  in  his  roving  career  he  had 
visited  it  to  find  the  reality  quite  as  enchanting  as  he 
had  anticipated.  He  liked  the  country,  he  liked  the 
customs,  he  liked  the  people  —  the  peculiar  Latin  tem- 
perament with  its  subtleties,  its  love  of  intrigue,  its 
soft-spoken,  silken  exterior  masking  the  fire  of  pas- 
sion. He  understood  them,  and  got  along  with  them 
far  better  than  the  ordinary  visitor  from  the  States. 

He  had  made  his  first  journey  there,  well-to-do  and 
with  no  other  purpose  than  to  take  a  holiday  and  wait 
until  the  excitement  caused  by  a  series  of  brilliant  coups 
for  which  he  was  responsible  had  blown  over;  and 
thereafter,  whenever  too  hard-pressed  by  the  authori- 
ties, or  simply  feeling  the  need  of  rest  and  recreation 
from  his  work-a-day  cares,  he  had  always  gone  back. 
But  never  had  he  gone  wrong  below  the  Isthmus,  never 
made  a  move  which  could  in  any  way  be  questioned. 

Most  members  of  the  underworld  have  some  city 
of  refuge  —  usually  their  native  town  —  where,  be 
they  cracksmen,  forgers,  crooks,  or  what  not,  nothing 
could  induce  them  to  be  guilty  of  a  depredation;  and 
all  the  territory  from  Colon  to  Punta  Arenas  was  a  real 
refuge  for  the  "  Hornet."  His  record  there  was  un- 
blemished, the  pseudonym  of  James  Prentice  under 
which  he  was  known  was  a  guarantee  of  probity  and 
honorable  dealing. 

Consequently,  when  he  conceived  the  idea  of  re- 
establishing himself,  it  was  to  South  America  and  its 
opportunities  that  his  mind  turned ;  or  possibly  he  saw 
the  opportunity,  and  that  suggested  to  him  the  question 
of  reestablishment.  At  any  rate,  he  had  embraced  the 
chance.  With  his  acquaintance,  his  reputation  as  a 
man  of  wealth  and  integrity,  and  his  comprehension  of 
the  methods  of  the  people,  this  was  no  very  difficult 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  179 

task.  Within  less  than  a  year,  the  Senor  Prentice  had 
his  scheme  complete  —  franchises  and  concessions  cov- 
ering a  chain  of  capitals  and  prominent  cities,  powers 
of  attorney,  credentials  as  business  plenipotentiary,  and 
a  trunkful  of  statistics,  blue  prints,  profile  maps,  and 
sworn  statements  from  auditors  and  engineers. 

But  the  real  test  was  ahead  of  him.  He  had  to  get 
the  capital  to  finance  his  proposition,  and  with  Europe 
involved  in  war  there  was  but  one  place  to  get  it,  New 
York;  while  in  all  New  York  he  knew  of  but  one  capi- 
talist with  the  traction  experience  or  brains  to  under- 
stand his  plans,  or  the  necessary  connections,  political 
prestige,  or  practical  ability  to  put  it  through  —  his 
Uncle  William. 

Yet  to  this  incredible  venture  had  the  "  Hornet  "  set 
himself,  and  for  its  furtherance  were  forged  all  those 
various  "  irons  "  which  he  had  told  Colvin  he  had  in 
the  fire,  red-hot  rivets  to  bolt  and  hold  together  the 
bridge  which  should  carry  him  from  the  under  to  the 
upper  world. 

So  far  he  had  played  an  absolutely  straight  hand 
with  Whitefield.  In  the  mapping  out  of  his  campaign 
he  had  decided  that  all  personal  feeling  —  the  old  hos- 
tilities and  resentments  —  must  be  set  aside  until  his 
object  was  accomplished.  He  was  dealing  not  with 
his  uncle,  he  told  himself,  but  the  financier;  and  he 
needed  the  latter's  aid  and  influence  too  much  at  this 
juncture  to  jeopard  the  stakes  by  anything  in  the  way 
of  trickery  or  fraud. 

And  then  fate  had  unexpectedly  thrown  the  Colvin 
papers  in  his  way,  and  he  saw  his  way  clear  to  a  su- 
preme revenge.  He  had  at  last  an  instrument  with 
which  to  crush  Whitefield  at  any  time  he  chose,  and 
strip  him  bare. 


i8o  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

But  that  was  all  in  the  future.  At  present  he  re- 
quired all  of  Uncle  William's  trained  sagacity  and 
whole-hearted  support,  and  never  more  so  than  to- 
night, when  the  business  stood  at  such  a  critical  stage. 

"  I  can't  let  him  get  pickled,"  he  thought,  frown- 
ing at  the  glass  in  his  hand  with  its  rising  bubbles. 
"  I've  got  to  have  the  very  best  he  has  in  the  shop,  if 
we  are  to  handle  this  situation  down  at  Washington." 

Resolutely  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  preventing 
his  uncle  from  taking  anything  more  to  drink.  He 
plied  him  with  hypotheses  and  rosy  schemes  and  crisp 
suggestions  instead  of  Scotch  and  soda.  He  mixed  a 
cocktail  compounded  of  clever  expedients  and  strata- 
gems, which  gripped  the  financier's  flagging  faculties 
and  spurred  him  into  vigorous  consideration  of  the 
issue. 

Under  the  stimulus  of  the  "  Hornet's  "  keen  presen- 
tation of  the  subject,  Whitefield's  brain  cleared,  and  he 
was  roused  to  a  spirit  of  bold  decision.  Never  had  he 
shown  himself  more  masterful,  more  farsighted  in  his 
grasp  of  a  question. 

Together  the  two  took  counsel,  testing  and  weigh- 
ing each  point  brought  up,  until  at  last  they  had  out- 
lined a  program  to  which  neither  could  offer  any  fur- 
ther amendment.  Then,  seating  himself  at  the  long 
distance  telephone,  Whitefield  held  a  five  minutes'  con- 
versation with  a  man  in  Washington,  and  the  thing  was 
done. 

The  "  Hornet  "  could  hardly  believe  it.  Everything 
had  come  about  so  easily.  The  last  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  political  interference  with  his  scheme  was  swept 
aside.  All  that  remained  now  was  the  financing  of  the 
project,  and  Whitefield  had  assured  him  that  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  regard  to  that. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  181 

But  it  was  not  in  the  "  Hornet "  to  betray  his  in- 
ward emotions  —  neither  elation  when  he  won,  nor  dis- 
appointment when  he  lost. 

He  rose  briskly  from  his  seat,  and  extended  his 
hand  across  the  desk. 

"  Well,  now  that's  settled,  I'll  be  on  my  way,"  he 
said.  "  Sorry  to  have  kept  you  so  long  from  your 
guests." 

But  Whitefield  shook  his  head.  He  was  exhilarated 
with  the  show  of  power  he  had  just  given,  and  he  did 
not  wish  to  return  to  the  effete  inanities  of  the  ball- 
room. It  was  like  offering  cream  puffs  to  a  lion  with 
the  taste  of  blood  in  his  mouth.  Besides,  the  "  Hor- 
net "  interested  and  amused  him. 

"  Nonsense,"  with  a  glance  at  the  clock.  "  Why, 
it's  just  the  shank  of  the  evening."  Then  a  sudden 
idea  came  to  him.  There  was  no  question  of  the  "  Hor- 
net's "  presentability.  "  Listen,"  he  said,  "  they'll  be 
just  about  serving  supper  up-stairs  now,  and  you  must 
stay  and  join  me.  I'll  have  one  of  the  men  arrange  a 
table  in  some  quiet  corner,  where  we  can  eat  our  sup- 
per, and  still  not  be  interrupted. 

"  Or,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  added.  "  I'll 
make  that  a  table  for  five,  and  then  I'll  round  up  Wal- 
lace and  Harding  and  Calhoun  —  they're  all  here  to- 
night—  and  you  can  lay  your  proposition  before  them. 
How's  that?  Keep  things  moving  right  along? 
Strike  while  the  iron's  hot?  " 

The  "  Hornet,"  who  had  appeared  to  hesitate  at 
first  as  if  casting  about  for  some  way  to  decline,  yielded 
now  to  his  hospitable  urging,  and  together  the  two  left 
the  study  together. 

"  Don't  get  the  idea  into  your  head,  either,  that 
you've  got  to  hold  yourself  strictly  down  to  business," 


182  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Whitefield  prompted,  as  they  mounted  the  staircase. 
"  Enjoy  yourself.  Have  a  good  time.  I'll  introduce 
you  to  some  mighty  good-looking  women,  if  you  say 
so.  Oh,  Freda,"  as  she  passed  them  at  the  moment, 
"  I  want  to  present  my  South  American  friend,  Mr. 
Prentice." 

He  left  them  talking  together,  and  hurried  off  in 
search  of  the  men  of  whom  he  had  spoken,  prominent 
figures  in  the  world  of  finance,  whose  names  graced 
almost  every  page  in  the  Directory  of  Directors. 

Soon  he  returned  with  the  three  of  them.  "  A  Har- 
riman,  a  John  Gates,  and  a  Russell  Sage,"  the  "  Hor- 
net"  classified  them,  out  of  his  profound  knowledge 
of  human  nature. 

"  A  little  supper  party  we've  made  up,  my  dear," 
Whitefield  explained  to  Freda.  "  Mr.  Prentice  is 
going  to  tell  us  something  about  South  America." 
And  then,  leading  the  way,  he  guided  them  to  the 
palm-sheltered  nook  where  he  had  directed  that  their 
table  be  laid,  and  where  two  footmen  in  scarlet  evening 
livery  stood  waiting  to  seat  them. 

The  "  Hornet  "  was  surprised  to  find  how  little  he 
was  impressed  by  the  exalted  company  in  which  he 
found  himself.  His  confidence  and  sense  of  power 
grew  as  he  realized  how  easily  he  held  the  attention  of 
these  lords  of  earth,  cold-eyed  though  they  were,  sated 
with  schemes  and  propositions,  skeptically  from  Mis- 
souri. 

It  came  to  him  thrillingly  that  he  need  waste  no 
more  years  in  furtively  prying  locks  and  making 
stealthy  entrances  to  get  what  he  wanted.  Hence- 
forth he  would  come  boldly  and  by  daylight,  and  men 
like  these  would  gladly  admit  him,  and  hand  over  their 
checks  to  finance  the  ideas  he  presented. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  183 

And  as  his  spirit  expanded,  his  tongue  loosened  into 
picturesque  expression,  and  the  magnetism  of  his  con- 
viction swayed  and  held  them  captive.  The  shifting 
crowds  of  Rio  with  its  tessellated  sidewalks,  its  fresh- 
washed  house  fronts,  its  stately  Avenue  Rio  Branca 
they  saw  through  his  eyes.  They  smelled  the  fra- 
grance of  the  orange  and  lemon  trees,  and  warmed 
to  the  sunshine  of  a  summer  land.  The  sparkling, 
deep  blue  bay  spread  itself  before  them,  with  its  ring 
of  encircling  mountains  —  Sugar  Loaf,  Tres  Irmaos, 
Corcovado  and  Tijuca,  Gavia's  huge,  sail-like  bulk. 
Palm  trees  rustled  in  their  ears,  not  the  few  stunted 
bushes  of  the  florist  which  screened  them  in,  but 
trees  lofty  and  commanding,  whole  forests  of 
them. 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  the  purple,  tropic  night  de- 
scended. Lights  glowed  from  the  dark  hills  around 
Rio  like  the  flash  of  fireflies,  and  twined  themselves 
into  strings  and  festoons  along  the  water  front  and 
down  the  broad  avenues.  A  pleasure-loving,  pleasure- 
seeking  population  trooped  out  of  its  houses,  and  gath- 
ered by  the  thousands  at  the  parks  and  places  of  rec- 
reation. 

The  night  life  of  Rio,  gentlemen!  Why,  New 
York  with  its  few  block  of  lobster  palaces  and  cabarets 
is  like  a  staid  New  England  village  compared  with 
this  metropolis  where  everybody  turns  out,  and  the 
spirit  of  fiesta  bubbles  up  fresh  with  each  setting  of 
the  sun. 

He  switched  to  Sao  Paulo,  brilliant,  modern, 
breathing  of  opulence;  to  Bahia;  to  Para;  to  Pernam- 
buco  with  the  long  rollers  of  the  South  Atlantic  break- 
ing over  its  rocky  reefs  in  a  smother  of  foam.  He 
sketched  for  them  the  scintillating,  Paris-like  gaiety 


184  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

of  Buenos  Ayres  and  Montevideo;  carried  them  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  from  Caracas  to  Lima,  and  from 
Quito  to  Santiago. 

But  always  his  tale  was  of  crowds  —  crowds  at  the 
race  tracks,  tremendous  outpourings  at  the  bullfights, 
holiday  throngs  on  the  frequent  Saints'  days,  thou- 
sands of  worshippers  seeking  the  churches  and  ca- 
thedrals on  Sundays  and  fast  days,  a  constant  move- 
ment of  people  day  and  night. 

And  that  all  means  transportation,  gentlemen  — 
pesos,  milreis,  the  equivalent  of  our  homely,  American 
nickel.  It's  a  continent  just  awaking  to  the  develop- 
ment of  its  resources  and  possibilities.  Coffee,  rub- 
ber, cattle,  lumber,  sugar,  spices,  fresh  fruits,  wheat 
and  cotton,  ore,  asphalt,  oil  and  coal.  Every  one  of 
them  spells  expanding  towns  and  cities  and  expanding 
populations. 

The  champagne  frothed  untasted  in  their  glasses 
as  they  listened,  and  the  courses  were  served  and  re- 
moved with  their  plates  untouched ;  for  the  "  Hornet  " 
spoke  not  only  with  the  tongues  of  men  —  the  business 
jargon  that  they  could  understand  and  appreciate  — 
but  he  also  waved  the  wand  of  a  magician,  and  in- 
vested his  proposition  with  all  the  romance  and  color 
of  adventure. 

As  the  group  broke  up,  and  the  three  financiers 
drifted  away,  Whitefield  gripped  him  hard  by  the  arm 
and  bent  toward  him. 

"  You've  got  'em,  Prentice,"  he  breathed  exultantly. 
"  When  those  three  dead  fish  sit  there  for  an  hour 
with  their  mouths  open  and  their  eyes  popping  out 
of  their  heads  like  a  bunch  of  kids  listening  to  '  Jack 
the  Giant  Killer '  for  the  first  time,  and  when  old 
D wight  Calhoun  offers  to  blow  you  off  to  luncheon  to- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  185 

morrow  —  it'll  probably  cost  him  all  the  way  to  thirty- 
five  cents  —  there's  nothing  else  to  it." 

They  came  out  to  the  ballroom,  and  stood  together 
talking  a  moment  at  the  edge  of  the  floor. 

"Want  to  dance,  Prentice?"  suggested  Whitefield. 
ft  You  must  meet  my  niece,  Miss  Fletcher." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  Miss  Fletcher,"  re- 
turned the  "  Hornet."  He  did  not  confess  that  he  did 
not  dance  until  he  was  talking  to  Muriel. 

"  I  suppose  it's  pure  trespass  of  me  to  take  up  your 
time  when  I  am  so  hopelessly  out  of  it,  Miss  Fletcher," 
he  said.  "  I  can't  even  one-step." 

"  How  nice."  She  spoke  indifferently,  opening 
and  shutting  her  big,  feather  fan.  "  I'm  tired  my- 
self." 

"  Then  maybe  you'll  let  me  talk  with  you  about  ten 
minutes  —  where  we  shan't  be  interrupted?" 

She  glanced  up  at  him  quickly;  then  her  eyes 
dropped  again  in  wary  caution. 

"  It  sounds  awfully  interesting."  The  languor  in 
her  tone  was  perceptibly  forced  now.  "  But  —  why 
should  I  ? " 

"  Well,  say  on  Vernon's  account." 

If  the  "Hornet"  had  possessed  any  acquaintance 
with  his  cousin  —  known  her  as  Whitefield  did,  for 
instance  —  he  would  have  recognized  that  the  swift 
tangling  of  her  black  lashes,  as  she  again  looked  up  at 
him  and  again  dropped  her  lids,  was  a  danger  sign. 
It  meant  that  she  was  on  guard,  that  the  buttons  were 
off  the  foils,  and  she  stood  ready  for  the  quick  game 
of  parry  and  thrust. 

"  Uncle  William  must  be  failing,  Mr.  Prentice,"  she 
laughed  contemptuously.  "  This  is  too  clumsy. 
Why,  a  kiddy  could  see  through  it." 


186  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

The  "  Hornet "  leaned  toward  her  under  pretense 
of  looking  at  her  card. 

"  Now  don't  start,  or  jump,  or  make  a  show  of 
yourself,"  he  murmured.  "  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
something.  This  isn't  a  game  where  Uncle  William 
and  I  are  against  you,  but  where  you  and  I  are  against 
Uncle  William.  Do  you  understand,  ma  belle 
cousine  f 

"Oh!"  There  was  just  the  quick,  half-stifled  ex- 
clamation, scarcely  more  than  a  catching  of  her  breath. 
Then,  with  admirable  control,  she  recovered  her  usual 
indifferent,  almost  sullen  manner. 

"  You'll  do."  The  "  Hornet  "  nodded  his  satisfac- 
tion. "  I  thought  I  could  take  a  chance.  It's  seldom 
I  make  a  mistake  in  sizing  up  any  one,  either  man  or 
woman." 

She  swept  aside  the  implied  compliment  with  a  wave 
of  her  fan.  "  Fletcher  Hempstead  had  a  scar,"  she 
frowned  slightly. 

"  He  lent  it  to  his  friend,  Vernon,"  his  mouth 
twisted  in  his  sardonic  smile,  "  at  the  cost  of  much 
mental  anguish  and  mortification  of  the  flesh.  This 
damask  cheek  is  harder  to  maintain  than  you  may 
imagine." 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  still  full  of 
suspicion.  "  What  do  you  wish  to  talk  to  me  about?  " 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  I'll  not  ask  you  to  commit  yourself;  don't 
be  so  distrustful,"  he  laughed.  "  Vernon  will  vouch 
for  me,  if  it  becomes  necessary.  Put  him  the  point- 
blank  question  to-night,  if  you  choose.  But  in  the 
meantime,  just  take  the  matter  for  granted,  and  give 
me  the  five  or  ten  minutes  that  I  want  with  you." 

She  considered  a  moment.     "What  is  it  about?" 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  187 

she  asked  again,  but  in  a  different  tone.  "  Have  you 
some  plan  to  get  our  money  away  from  Uncle  Wil- 
liam and  into  our  own  hands  ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  Yes ;  but  that  isn't  what  I  wish  to 
talk  about  with  you  now.  That  comes  later.  I'll 
make  him  come  across  all  right  —  with  your  share  at 
least,  and  mine,  too  —  although  possibly  in  another 
way.  It  seems  hardly  likely  now  that  I  shall  care  to 
change  this  smooth,  Prentice  skin  for  the  Hempstead 
spots,  as  I  should  have  to  do  if  I  made  a  direct  claim. 
But  I'll  get  what's  coming  to  both  of  us,  never  fear. 
First,  though,  I've  got  to  clear  things  up  a  bit.  I'm 
playing  three  hands  in  this  game,  you  see.  There's 
mine,  and  there's  yours,  and  there's  —  Vernon's. 
And  they've  all  got  to  dovetail  and  work  in  together. 

"  That's  why  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  concluded. 
"  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  with  us  and  that 
you'll  help.  But  I  want  to  know  just  how  much  you 
are  able  to  do,  and  I  want  to  arrange  some  way  of  get- 
ting into  quick  communication  if  I  should  need  you. 
I  haven't  sought  you  out  before,  because  it  didn't  seem 
necessary,  but  it  begins  to  look,  little  one,  as  if  you 
would  have  to  bear  a  hand  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us. 
Now  are  you  willing  to  come  with  me  ?  There  must  be 
some  place,"  he  looked  questioningly  around  him, 
"  where  we  can  be  undisturbed." 

She  hesitated  but  one  brief  second,  as  she  thought 
of  the  little  balcony  where  she  and  Colvin  had  so  re- 
cently stood.  There  was  a  twinge  of  the  heart,  but 
this  was  no  moment  for  sentiment.  She  was  a  woman 
of  courage  and  decision. 

"  This  way,"  she  said ;  and  it  was  then  as  they 
crossed  the  room  that  Ashe  saw  them  together,  and 
experienced  the  most  amazed  moment  of  his  life. 


1 88  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

And  with  his  astonishment  and  wonder,  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  dull  sense  of  defeat.  He  had  been  over- 
matched, out-generalled.  The  meeting  he  had  strug- 
gled to  avert  was  accomplished,  and  what  the  conse- 
quences might  be  no  one  could  determine. 

He  must  know  the  motives  which  had  led  the  "  Hor- 
net "  to  seek  Muriel,  and  self-willed,  impressionable, 
reckless  as  she  was,  who  could  foretell  the  influence 
which  that  warped  and  cynical  nature  might  have  upon 
her  life? 

The  "  Hornet's  "  presence  there  could  not  be  sheer 
bravado.  Something  must  have  arisen,  some  unex- 
pected complication,  which  had  caused  him  to  emerge 
from  under  cover,  and  hazard  such  a  desperate  ex- 
pedient. He  required  the  girl's  air  of  cooperation  in 
some  way ;  that  must  be  it. 

And  against  this,  Ashe's  heart  rose  in  a  surge  of 
protest.  She  should  not  be  made  use  of,  nor  involved 
in  any  of  their  schemes.  Whatever  the  outcome  to 
himself  or  the  "  Hornet,"  no  taint  of  this  sordid  strug- 
gle must  rest  upon  her.  He  would  fight  against  that 
with  every  ounce  of  strength  that  was  in  him.  If  he 
asserted  himself,  he  did  not  doubt  that  he  could  make 
the  "  Hornet  "  see  reason.  Yes ;  but  how  about  Mu- 
riel? He  had  failed  in  this  instance  to  prevent  her 
from  getting  her  own  way;  against  all  his  opposition 
was  her  determination  to  gain  speech  with  his  cousin. 
How  then  could  he  look  with  any  confidence  to  a  sec- 
ond encounter,  where  her  interest  and  inclination,  her 
hatred  of  her  uncle,  her  desire  for  freedom,  the  lure  of 
intrigue  and  excitement,  would  all  be  pitted  against 
him? 

He  wished  that  he  knew  her  better  —  inscrutable, 
brilliant  creature.  Yet  he  knew,  too,  that  a  great 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

part  of  her  fascination  for  him  arose  from  the  fact 
that  he  had  not  fathomed  the  secret  which  lay  behind 
her  eyes.  Her  strength  was  obvious,  but  what  were 
her  weaknesses?  He  was  uncertain  where  to  ques- 
tion, and  where  to  depend.  He  wondered  if  her  will, 
her  intelligence,  her  shrewd  perceptions  balanced  ade- 
quately her  audacity,  her  headstrong  daring. 

His  Aunt  Estelle  had  turned  away,  and  was  talking 
to  a  little  group  of  people,  and  so  his  meditations  were 
for  the  moment  undisturbed.  He  leaned  back  against 
the  wall  with  arms  folded,  the  frown  between  his  eyes 
deepening  as  he  gazed  down  at  the  floor. 

"  Not  dancing,  Mr.  Vernon?  "  It  was  the  voice  of 
Freda.  She  had  stopped  for  a  moment  with  the  group 
about  Miss  Gansevoort,  and  now  she  moved  on  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  No,"  rousing  with  a  slight  start.  "  I'm  longing  to, 
though,  if  you  are  not  too  tired."  He  forced  himself 
to  smile  and  answer  courteously. 

She  too  smiled  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  he  felt 
a  chill,  unmistakable  premonition  of  impending  dan- 
ger. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  blare,  the  riotous  syncopations  of  a  fox-trot 
broke  across  the  ballroom  as  Colvin  extended  his  arms, 
and  Freda  shook  her  head  and  drew  back  with  a  faint 
frown. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  old-fashioned,  Mr.  Vernon. 
All  this  trotting  wears  me  out,  I  find,  and  I  think  I 
should  like  to  waltz.  Let  us  wait  until  I  can  send 
word  to  the  musicians  to  play  a  good  one.  Any  pref- 
erence? Mine,"  she  paused,  smiling  up  at  him  slowly 
and  sweetly,  "  is  always  '  The  Beautiful,  Blue  Dan- 
ube.' You  see  how  remote  I  am  from  the  present 
era."  She  turned  her  head,  and  asked  a  man  to  carry 
the  order  to  the  musicians. 

"  Poor  present  era.  It  has  lost  heavily  in  charm 
and  grace,"  Ashe  returned  with  easy  flattery.  But 
every  nerve  in  his  body  was  taut. 

He  wondered  what  that  half-revealed  menace  in  her 
eyes  meant.  Was  she  merely  casting  about  in  the  dark, 
trying  to  solve  the  puzzle  of  his  identity,  or  had  she 
succeeded?  Some  chance  expressions,  some  slight, 
familiar  gesture  might  have  betrayed  him. 

At  any  rate,  she  was  putting  him  now  to  a  test  he 
would  have  gone  far  to  avoid.  A  waltz !  They  must 
have  waltzed  miles  together  in  the  old,  dead  days ;  she 
knew  his  step  perfectly.  And  the  Blue  Danube!  It 
had  had  some  sentimental  significance  to  them  —  just 
what  he  could  not  now  remember,  nor  had  he  the  slight- 
est desire  to  do  so. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  191 

However,  it  was  too  late  to  hedge  or  draw  back. 
He  had  to  go  through  with  this  dance,  no  matter  what 
the  result.  He  exchanged  small  talk  with  her  during 
the  interval  until  the  fox-trot  ended  —  the  superficial, 
casual  chatter  of  such  an  occasion. 

Then  upon  his  unwilling,  angry  ears  there  fell  the 
first  slow,  rhythmic  beat  of  that  waltz,  perhaps  the 
most  sensuous  and  seductive  ever  written,  artificial  as 
the  flower-garlanded  Viennese  fetes  for  which  it  was 
composed,  sweet  as  the  roses  which  have  faded  in  the 
glitter  and  light  of  a  thousand  ballrooms,  passionate 
and  evanescent  as  the  kisses  exchanged  in  dim  con- 
servatories while  its  music  still  lingered  in  the  air. 
The  roses  are  dust,  the  kisses  long  ago  forgotten ;  but 
the  old  waltz  yet  has  power  to  stir  the  blood  of 
younger  generations. 

In  spite  of  his  reluctance,  Colvin  fell  under  its  spell. 
Freda  danced  as  gracefully  as  ever,  and  although  the 
woman  was  nothing  to  him,  he  found  it  impossible  not 
to  enjoy  the  perfect  conception  of  time  and  rhythm 
of  such  a  partner.  They  did  not  speak,  simply  danced 
on  and  on  until  the  music  stopped. 

"Ah!  That  was  dancing!"  exclaimed  Colvin, 
speaking  naturally  and  freely  for  the  first  time.  "  Your 
choice  was  an  inspiration,  Mrs.  Whitefield." 

She  looked  back  at  him,  unsmiling;  there  was  an 
odd,  excited  glitter  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  glad  you  found  it  so.  But  I  have  another  in- 
spiration. We  did  not  half  finish  our  conversation  at 
your  hotel  yesterday  morning.  Won't  you  come  to  my 
sitting-room  a  few  minutes?  I  am  sure  I  can  make 
myself  clearer  than  I  did  then,  and  explain  not  only 
my  unfortunate  mistake,  but  —  several  other  things." 

She  was  his  hostess;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 


192  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

acquiesce.  But  even  if  there  had  been  a  loophole  of 
escape,  it  is  doubtful  if  Colvin  would  have  accepted 
it.  There  was  a  sense  of  fatality  upon  him.  If  this 
were  the  moment  to  try  conclusions  with  her,  then  let 
it  come,  and  have  it  over  with.  It  was,  therefore,  in 
the  spirit  of  the  gamester  who,  with  a  "hunch"  that 
the  spinning  ball  will  fall  against  him,  yet  resolutely 
plays  the  red  or  black  his  game  calls  for,  that  he  fol- 
lowed Freda  to  her  sitting-room. 

As  he  entered,  he  looked  about  him  with  a  quicken- 
ing of  interest  and  surprise.  He  remembered  it  well 
as  the  conventional,  chintz-bright,  flower-sweet,  photo- 
graph-strewn boudoir  of  a  pretty  woman. 

But  what  a  difference  now !  Arachne's  web.  Low- 
toned,  soft  and  dim,  at  first  glance  restful,  and  still 
flower-sweet.  Freda's  love  of  saffron  roses  had  never 
been  supplanted.  There  was  a  bowl  of  them  on  the  ta- 
ble beside  Colvin's  chair,  and  their  petals  were  falling 
on  a  small,  wonderful,  bronze  tigress  couchant,  her 
claws  unsheathed,  her  lip  drawn  back  from  her  teeth, 
ready  to  spring  —  the  eternal  symbol  of  the  ruthless, 
treacherous,  eternal  feminine.  It  seemed  the  one  defi- 
nite note  in  an  atmosphere  of  evasions.  Fog!  That 
was  the  keynote  of  the  room. 

"  Ah,  you  are  admiring  my  bronze ! "  Freda  was 
leaning  back  in  a  long,  low  chair.  "  I  have  some  really 
nice  pieces.  I  must  show  them  to  you  before  you  go." 

"  Your  room  is  very  interesting,"  he  replied.  "  A 
person's  environment  is  so  apt  to  be  an  expression  of 
character,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  Ye-es."  She  looked  at  him  a  little  suspiciously, 
as  if  divining  some  deeper  meaning  in  his  tone,  but 
failing  to  grasp  it.  "  I  suppose  most  people  have 
more  than  one  side  to  their  natures." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  193 

He  nodded.  "  Yes;  that  strange,  hidden  self  which 
is  so  much  more  real  and  interesting  than  the  side  one 
sees.  Sometimes  it  is  beautiful,  sometimes  ugly;  but 
it  is  always  fascinating." 

"  Our  hidden  self,"  she  said  slowly.  "  It  lives  in 
all  of  us,  doesn't  it?  "  Absently  she  pulled  the  petals 
from  a  rose  which  swayed  near  her,  and  closed  her 
ringers  about  them.  "  The  life  of  all  women  perhaps 
—  but  certainly  of  women  like  me  —  is  the  life  of  the 
heart.  The  heart's  history !  "  She  spoke  with  ap- 
parent irrelevance,  but  he  doubted  both  the  seeming 
and  the  irrelevance.  Then  she  fell  to  silence,  but  it 
was  brief. 

"  When  I  was  very  young  and  very  poor  —  for  we 
were  awfully  poor  for  people  who  had  to  keep  up  a 
social  position,  you  know  —  it  seemed  a  wonderful 
thing  to  me  to  marry  Mr.  Whitefield,  a  door  of  escape 
from  everything  that  I  detested.  He  could  give  me 
all  that  I  had  longed  for  and  dreamed  of.  Perhaps 
I  was  too  young  to  understand;  I  didn't  know  my 
own  temperament,  never  took  it  into  account;  so 
I  gained  everything  and  —  nothing."  Her  head 
drooped  on  her  hand,  the  rose  petals  fell  unnoticed  to 
the  floor.  "  I  have  had  youth,  health,  good  looks,  ad- 
miration, but — "  She  paused. 

He  took  his  cue.  Well  he  knew  the  next  move  in 
the  game.  "  Many  men  must  have  loved  you.  You 
are  the  type  that  all  men  adore."  He  forced  the  note 
of  flirtation.  He  had  an  intense  curiosity  to  see  where 
she  was  leading. 

She  let  her  eyes  rest  on  his  a  long  moment.  She 
knew  that  she  was  still  beautiful,  and  that  she  was  at 
her  loveliest  in  her  wistful,  twilight  grays.  To-night 
at  least,  the  empire  which  was  slipping  away  so  fast 


194  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

was  still  secure.  She  swayed  toward  him.  Her  voice 
was  low,  quick,  touched  with  feeling. 

"  Ah,  you  are  one  of  the  few  people  who  understand. 
It  is  easy  to  talk  to  you,  to  tell  you  something  that  I 
want  you  to  know.  I'm  not  just  droning  on  about 
myself;  I  will  get  somewhere  in  a  moment  if  you  will 
be  patient  with  me.  I  suppose  I  am  a  very  rash 
woman;  I  know  that  I  am  a  very  feminine  one,  for 
I  always  follow  my  instincts  and  intuitions.  And  my 
intuition  is  to  trust  you,  and  my  instinct  is  to  confide 
in  you."  She  smiled  her  sweet,  slow,  siren  smile. 

"  I  am  more  than  flattered,  I  am  honored."  He  was 
taking  his  cues  more  easily  now. 

"Very  well,  then.  My  confidence,  even  if  it  bores 
you,  will  at  least  explain  as  nothing  else  could  do  my 
action  of  yesterday  morning."  For  the  first  time  there 
was  a  trace  of  nervousness  in  her  manner.  "  There  is 
a  dear  boy,  Ollie  Darnton ;  perhaps  you  have  met  him. 
It  is  absurd,  of  course,  but  during  the  last  year  he  has 
rather  lost  his  head  about  me.  It  is  only  fair  to  my- 
self to  say  that  I  did  my  best  to  show  him  the  folly  of 
it,  even  while  I  could  not  help  feeling  the  sweetness 
of  the  tribute.  You  know,  a  woman  becomes  accus- 
tomed to  that  sort  of  thing;  but  she  only  appreciates 
it  when  she  realizes  the  flight  of  time,  sees  that  her 
beauty  is  subject  to  change  — "  She  shivered,  and 
broke  off.  There  was  a  film  over  her  eyes,  tragedy  in 
her  tightened  mouth.  But  after  a  moment  she  con- 
trolled herself,  and  went  on. 

"  To  be  brief,  Ollie  has  no  business  ability ;  he  is  a 
child  about  money,  and  last  spring  he  managed  to  get 
into  very  serious  financial  difficulties.  The  market 
broke  wrong  for  him.  He  had  been  foolish  —  And 
I —  I  let  him  pawn  my  sapphires.  His  father  re- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  195 

turned  this  fall  from  Europe,  and  helped  him  out,  and 
he  redeemed  them,  and  returned  them  to  me.  He  gave 
them  to  me  the  night  of  the  robbery,  and  without  my 
husband's  knowledge  I  took  them  clown  about  twelve 
o'clock,  and  put  them  in  his  safe.  They  were  taken 
with  the  other  things. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,  my  husband  is  in  such  a  mental  state 
at  present  that  I  dare  not  let  him  know  of  the  loss  of 
those  sapphires.  He  is  under  a  strain  so  severe  that 
even  he  is  beginning  to  show  it.  If  he  ever  discovered 
that  I  had  permitted  Ollie  to  pawn  them,  he  would  be 
utterly  savage.  He  would  never  believe  that  the  boy 
and  I  hadn't  planned  the  robbery,  and  carried  it 
through.  You  see,  he  is  counting  on  those  sapphires, 
and  these,"  she  touched  the  string  of  large,  superbly- 
matched  pearls  which  fell  below  her  waist,  "  to  raise  a 
large  sum  of  money  if  the  necessity  arises.  If  he 
learns  that  they  are  gone,  I  dare  not  think  of  the  con- 
sequences. 

"  Oh !  "  She  broke  down  completely.  Her  face 
was  tortured,  twisted.  She  stretched  out  her  clasped 
hands  to  him.  "  I  know  that  you  can  continue  to  be 
politely  mystified,  or  perhaps  insulted ;  but  you  can  not 
dismiss  it  that  way,  you  can  not.  You  can  not  put 
me  off  with  meaningless  words.  You  know,  and  I 
know,  that  there  is  something  back  of  my  suspicions. 
The  links  fit  too  well  in  the  chain.  I  feel,  I  am  sure, 
in  spite  of  anything  you  may  say  or  do,  that  you  have 
some  knowledge  of  my  sapphires. 

"  No,  no,"  as  he  gave  his  French  shrug,  and  lifted 
his  brows  in  disclaimer ;  "  that  is  not  convincing.  Mr. 
Vernon,  you  must  understand  that  my  case  is  an  ab- 
solutely desperate  one.  I  am  making  a  desperate  ap- 
peal to  you." 


196  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  of  the  sincerity  of 
her  words,  and  although  she  did  not  move  him,  she 
made  him  miserably  uncomfortable  and  unhappy.  He 
was  so  indifferent  to  her  that  her  personal  distress 
meant  little  to  him ;  but  as  she  said,  she  was  a  woman 
in  a  desperate  position,  making  a  desperate  appeal  to 
him,  and  he  was  of  a  nature  which  could  not  be  deaf 
to  an  appeal  from  any  human  being  without  feeling 
the  impulse  to  help  and  assuage. 

There  was  no  satisfaction  in  this  achievement  of  a 
completed  revenge;  no  triumph  in  seeing  her  suffer 
what  he  might,  after  the  manner  of  men,  regard  as 
a  just  retribution.  The  primitive  emotion  of  the 
wronged  and  wounded  creature  to  wrong  and  wound 
in  turn  had  never  had  much  place  in  his  soul,  and  what 
little  existed  had  long  ago  burned  itself  out.  He 
struggled  to  be  philosophical.  Freda's  abasement  was 
one  of  those  inevitable  things  which  any  one  with  a 
penetrating  insight  into  life  must  have  foreseen.  The 
mills  of  the  gods  were  grinding,  that  was  all;  but  he 
profoundly  wished  that  he  might  have  been  spared 
the  spectacle. 

His  resentment  against  the  "  Hornet "  flared  again. 
He  wished  to  heaven  that  Freda  had  not  so  inexpli- 
cably tangled  the  situation  by  placing  her  sapphires 
to  the  "  Hornet's  "  hand,  and  that  the  latter  had  for 
once  resisted  his  professional  impulse  to  appropriate 
them. 

"  Mrs.  Whitefield,"  he  said,  "  what  you  think,  or  do 
not  think  about  my  collusion  in  the  theft  of  your  jewels 
is  immaterial  to  me.  I  am  no  more  insulted  by  your 
suspicions  than  I  would  be  pleased  by  your  faith  in  me. 
But  this  you  must  believe:  that  it  is  quite  out  of  my 
power  to  aid  you  in  recovering  your  lost  stones.  If  I 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  197 

had  the  best  will  in  the  world,  it  would  still  be  im- 
possible." 

She  gave  a  little  suppressed  cry  which  turned  into  a 
moan,  and  twisted  her  hands  together.  She  did  not 
believe  him.  His  words  in  a  way  served  to  convince 
her  that  he  knew  more,  much  more  than  he  was  will- 
ing to  admit.  She  felt  that  she  had  failed  so  far  be- 
cause she  had  not  used  the  right  method ;  but  when  it 
came  to  methods,  there  were  more  than  one.  She 
raised  her  eyes.  Beyond  Ashe,  and  facing  her,  was  a 
long,  narrow  mirror  in  a  faded,  antique  frame.  In 
this  subdued  room,  where  the  lights  were  so  softly 
shaded  that  they  shone  as  warmly  dim  as  the  sun 
shrouded  in  mist,  her  image  wavered,  shadowy  but 
still  lovely,  alluringly  lovely. 

"  That  means,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  you  will  not 
help  me.  No  judge  could  have  given  me  a  more  terri- 
ble sentence."  Her  voice  was  even;  then  she  broke 
suddenly.  "  Oh,  my  punishment  is  too  great !  " 

She  was  still  sincere  enough,  but  the  sincerity  was 
calculated  now,  employed  to  produce  a  definite  effect. 

"  Mr.  Vernon,  do  you  remember  that  terrible  and 
true  line  of  Oscar  Wilde's,  *  And  each  man  kills  the 
thing  he  loves  '  ?  I  wonder  if  many  lives  are  doomed 
to  such  a  horrible  realization  of  it  as  mine?" 

She  had  not  asked  the  question  of  him,  but  he  an- 
swered it.  His  chin  was  lifted,  his  face  was  very  cold, 
his  mouth  was  stern. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mrs.  Whitefield.  I  am  not  your 
father  confessor." 

"  You  are  very  harsh,"  she  sobbed ;  "  and  yet  you 
must,  you  must  listen  to  me.  There  was  a  man  once 
whom  I  loved  with  all  my  heart  —  But  circumstances 
came  up —  The  price  I  had  to  pay  for  loving  him 


198  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

was  too  high."  She  bent  her  head  on  her  hands,  her 
voice  was  broken  by  her  weeping.  "  To  save  myself, 
I  ruined  him.  I  do  not  know  where  he  is  ... 
whether  he's  dead  or  alive.  ...  I  only  know  that 
I've  paid.  I've  paid  through  every  day,  and  year,  and 
hour  since.  I've  paid  with  my  soul's  remorse,  with  an 
unceasing  ache  of  my  heart." 

And  now  he  was  to  reckon  with  a  new  and  un- 
dreamed-of element  —  the  vitality  of  memory.  She, 
the  woman,  could  not  reach  him;  but  these  unloosed 
forces  of  pent  feeling,  the  emotion  vibrating  through 
the  room,  created  an  atmosphere  which  reacted  on  his 
nerves,  and  vivified  the  buried  past.  His  mind 
thronged  with  pictures.  He  lived  again  the  scenes  of 
the  night  when  she  had  come  to  him  in  her  weakness, 
her  fear  and  her  love,  and  had  left  him  bankrupt  in 
friends,  honor,  and  hope.  He  felt  stifled,  smothered. 
The  very  air  seemed  heavy  with  old  regrets  and  re- 
bellious and  passionate  longings.  His  impression  of 
fog  in  the  room  increased. 

She  had  fallen  on  her  knees  before  him.  Her  poign- 
ant face,  her  streaming  eyes,  were  lifted  to  his. 

"  Oh,  isn't  there  any  forgiveness  for  me,"  she  cried ; 
"anywhere?  " 

The  years  were  dissolved.  His  old  memories  and 
his  present  consciousness  made  union.  So  had  her 
face  looked  that  night  when  anguished,  tear-wet,  it 
had  lain  on  his  breast,  and  she  had  betrayed  him  with 
a  kiss.  His  breath  came  in  short,  sharp  pants.  There 
were  drops  of  sweat  on  his  forehead.  His  teeth  were 
clenched.  His  voice  came  through  them  in  a  strident, 
labored  whisper. 

"  You  can't  play  it  on  me  again,  Freda.  Never 
again." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  199 

"Oh!  Oh!"  With  a  deep,  tearing,  gasping 
breath,  she  was  on  her  feet.  There  was  both  terror 
and  triumph  in  her  eyes.  Half -cowering  away  from 
him,  she  still  stared  as  if  fascinated. 

"  I  knew  it !  I  have  known  it  ever  since  we  danced 
together.  You  are  Ashe  Colvin." 

He  had  a  chaotic  moment  —  that  terrible  minute  in 
the  game  of  life  when  by  one  foolish  move  we  lose  the 
stakes  on  which  our  very  soul  is  set.  With  Ashe  this 
was  quickly  followed  by  the  imperative  impulse  to  re- 
trieve. He  bent  all  the  strength  of  his  will  to  re- 
sist the  discouragement  and  bewilderment  he  felt. 
This  was  no  time  to  weaken.  He  looked  back  at  her 
steadily  —  faintly  smiling  —  lifted  his  shoulders  with 
an  essentially  Latin  shrug,  and  spread  his  hands  palm 
outward. 

"  You  should  see  your  doctor,  Mrs.  Whitefield, 
Your  nerves  are  playing  tricks  on  you." 

He  realized  that  it  was  weak;  but  it  gave  him  time 
to  think,  and  also  put  the  next  move  up  to  her. 

Freda  did  not  answer,  merely  threw  back  her  head 
with  impatient  contempt.  Then  she  sat  down,  and 
leaning  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  thought  deeply. 
Finally  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  spoke  abruptly. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  —  I'll  continue  to  call  you  that  —  I've 
got  to  have  those  sapphires.  Got  to!  I  don't  very 
much  care  how."  She  held  his  eyes,  and  there  was 
a  significance  in  hers  which  he  could  not  for  the  mo- 
ment decipher.  "  I  do  not  have  to  rely  on  my  prayers 
to  you  to  help  me  get  them.  You  and  Fletcher  Hemp- 
stead  do  not  hold  all  the  trumps.  For  instance,  there 
is  the  girl!" 

He  suppressed  the  exclamation  that  rose  to  his  lips ; 
but  in  spite  of  his  determination  to  maintain  an  iron 


200  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

self-control,  he  started.  There  was  an  unmistakable 
threat  in  her  tone.  He  tried  to  convince  himself  that 
it  was  only  an  hysterical  attempt  at  "  frightfulness  " 
on  the  part  of  an  overwrought  woman;  but  this  was 
futile.  He  had  to  realize  that  he  was  dealing  with 
that  most  subtle  and  dangerous  creature  on  earth  — 
a  woman  inherently  without  a  scruple,  and  a  woman 
cornered.  In  his  own  experience  she  had  shown  that 
she  would  wreck  any  life,  if  by  so  doing  she  could  pre- 
serve and  enhance  her  own  interests. 

"  The  girl?  "  he  repeated  questioningly.  The  men- 
tal maelstrom  which  her  words  had  precipitated  calmed 
a  bit.  The  fear  which  had  clogged  the  free  beating 
of  his  heart  eased.  This  woman  was  weak,  shifting, 
underhanded;  Muriel  was  strong,  quick-witted,  con- 
fident. 

"  Yes,"  and  now  her  attitude  became  easier,  more 
relaxed ;  "  my  charming  niece.  As  I  told  you  yes- 
terday morning,  I  can  make  it  possible  for  you  to  see 
a  great  deal  of  her.  But,"  she  shook  her  head  regret- 
fully, but  the  vindictive  gleam  in  her  eyes  belied  the 
regret,  "  I'm  afraid  if  you  do  not  help  me  to  get  my 
stones  that  I  shall  be  so  occupied  with  my  own  prob- 
lems, that  I  —  Well,  that  I  might  relax  something  of 
my  vigilant  care  of  her.  Of  course  one  cannot  fail 
to  realize  in  these  days  that  the  path  of  an  heiress  is 
beset  with  dangers.  Accidents  —  often  fatal  ones  — 
occur  almost  every  day,  and  Muriel  is  so  wilful,  so  dar- 
ing." 

Never  before  had  Colvin  known  what  it  was  to  feel 
a  murderous  instinct,  but  he  comprehended  it  fully 
now.  He  longed  to  strangle  Freda,  and  leave  her 
gasping,  dying  upon  the  floor.  His  anger  and  his 
contempt  for  her  were  so  great  and  burned  so  fiercely 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  201 

within  him,  that  he  wondered  his  glance  did  not 
scorch  her  like  flame,  sear  that  white  skin  of  hers,  un- 
til it  blackened  and  charred  before  his  eyes. 

But  almost  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  some  warning, 
quieting  voice  repeated  in  his  ear :  "  Don't  give  way ! 
Hold  on  to  yourself!  Play  the  game!  " 

"  I  think  you  will  help  me  —  Mr.  Vernon."  Her 
voice  was  softly  confident. 

The  fog  which  had  seemed  to  envelop  him  in  this 
dim  and  shaded  room,  and  becloud  his  faculties,  sud- 
denly broke. 

He  deliberately  took  his  cigarette  case  from  his 
pocket,  opened  it,  and  held  it  out  to  her.  She  de- 
clined, and,  "  with  your  permission,"  he  lighted  one 
himself.  He  was  standing  with  one  hand  resting  on 
the  back  of  his  chair.  Lazily  he  watched  the  smoke 
wreaths  float  away  across  the  room. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Mrs.  Whitefield,  that  you  forget  your 
interesting  confidences  of  a  few  minutes  ago.  If  I 
were  Ashe  Colvin  —  the  Ashe  Colvin  you  say  you 
knew  —  I  might  respect  those  confidences.  But  Ver- 
non's  —  different. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  he  tossed  away  the  cigarette 
he  had  just  lighted,  and  spoke  with  an  icy,  vitriolic  in- 
cisiveness.  "If  you  permit  the  least  harm  to  come  to 
Miss  Fletcher,  if  even  a  hair  of  her  head  is  injured, 
I  will  lay  bare  the  whole  story  of  the  sapphires.  And, 
as  you  intimated  a  few  moments  ago,  it  might  cause  the 
authorities  to  view  the  circumstances  of  this  mysteri- 
ous robbery  —  and  murder  —  from  an  entirely  new 
angle." 

Without  another  word,  without  even  a  glance  at  her, 
he  left  the  room. 

His  one  desire  now  was  to  see  the  "  Hornet,"  but 


202  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

a  tour  of  the  rapidly  thinning  rooms  convinced  him 
that  the  latter  must  have  already  left.  He  therefore 
seized  his  coat  and  hat,  jumped  into  a  taxi,  and  was 
back  at  his  hotel,  "  while  one  with  moderate  haste 
might  tell  a  hundred."  His  intention  was  to  send 
Wimms  at  once  to  the  "Hornet"  with  a  note;  but 
Wimms  inexplicably  was  not  there  awaiting  him.  So, 
casting  caution  to  the  wrinds,  and  with  an  entire  dis- 
regard of  instructions,  he  rang  up  the  "  Hornet's " 
telephone  number.  But  he  called  in  vain;  there  was 
no  answer. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THERE  was  a  reason  for  Ashe's  failure  to  elicit  any 
response  to  his  persistent  telephoning.  The  "  Hornet  " 
was  absent  not  only  from  his  rooms,  but  also  from  the 
city.  Another  of  his  "  irons  in  the  fire  "  required  at- 
tention, so,  leaving  everything  at  loose  ends,  he  had  set 
off  posthaste  to  look  after  it. 

When  he  left  the  Whitefield  house  the  night  of  the 
dance,  and  returned  to  his  own  obscure  lodgings,  his 
one  thought  had  been  to  get  to  bed.  But  as  he  turned 
up  the  light  in  his  bedroom,  and  began  to  draw  off  his 
gloves,  he  saw  a  telegram  lying  upon  his  dressing  ta- 
ble, and  paused  abruptly  to  open  and  read  it. 

The  contents  seemed  innocent  enough,  merely  some 
unimportant  directions  relating  to  the  stock  market; 
but  they  served  to  arouse  his  interest. 

Hurriedly  he  changed  his  clothes,  and  went  out  into 
the  streets  again,  alert,  purposeful,  forgetting  his  fa- 
tigue. At  a  garage  some  eight  or  ten  blocks  away,  he 
found  a  man  awaiting  him,  a  short,  thick-set  man 
whom  the  "  Hornet "  called  "  Buffalo." 

"  Where  you  been  ?  "  The  latter  grumbled.  "  I've 
been  hanging  'round  this  smelly  old  dump  since  before 
midnight." 

The  "  Hornet "  drew  him  aside,  and  for  half  an  hour 
they  talked  in  undertones,  the  "  Hornet "  evidently  in 
the  role  of  questioner,  and  requiring  from  the  other 
detailed  and  explicit  answers. 

Satisfied  at  last,  he  nodded,  and  stepping  over  to  the 


204  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

office  of  the  garage,  engaged  a  car  and  the  services 
of  a  chauffeur  for  a  trip  into  the  country.  As  they 
whirled  across  town,  and  down  to  the  ferry,  the  sun 
was  just  gilding  the  tops  of  the  tall  buildings,  and  the 
troops  of  early  workers  were  beginning  to  invade  the 
streets. 

Twenty  minutes  later  they  were  in  the  open  coun- 
try, with  wooded  hills  off  on  the  horizon  and  an  oc- 
casional perspective  of  sparkling  water,  as  from  some 
eminence  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  bay.  But  the 
"  Hornet "  had  no  mind  for  the  beauties  of  nature. 
Leaning  back  against  the  cushions,  he  drew  the  brim  of 
his  soft  hat  down  over  his  brow  and  closed  his  eyes, 
although  not  for  slumber.  Exacting  as  the  night  had 
been,  he  had  if  anything  a  still  more  exacting  day  ahead 
of  him,  and  he  must  lay  his  plans  with  caution. 

For  the  two  or  three  hours  of  the  journey  he  main- 
tained his  reverie  unbroken,  scarcely  even  shifting  his 
position.  Then  as  the  motor  drew  up  and  stopped  be- 
fore the  one  inn  of  a  little  village  down  along  the  New 
Jersey  coast,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  sat  up. 

"This  is  the  place?"  he  asked,  and  receiving  an 
affirmative  answer,  got  out,  entered  the  inn,  and  hav- 
ing found  the  dining-room  where  he  was  presently 
joined  by  the  chauffeur,  they  ordered  and  ate  a  hearty 
breakfast.  That  finished,  the  "  Hornet "  sauntered 
out  to  the  desk,  and  idly  and  indifferently  glanced 
over  the  register.  When  he  came  to  the  name  of  Miss 
Hazel  Phillips,  New  York,  his  interest  ceased,  and  he 
turned  to  the  hovering  hotel  proprietor  to  engage  him 
in  some  affable  and  apparently  aimless  conversation. 

No,  the  proprietor  informed  him,  business  wasn't 
overly  brisk  just  at  this  season.  There  was  the  regu- 
lars, of  course,  they  stayed  all  year  'round;  but  this 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  205 

week  only  one  transient  had  showed  up,  the  little  lady 
from  New  York.  Actress  wanting  a  rest,  she  said 
she  was.  What  did  folks  do  here?  Oh,  nothing 
much ;  just  sat  around  on  the  porch  mostly,  or  in  their 
rooms.  Miss  Phillips,  she  didn't  mix  much  with  the 
rest,  spent  most  of  her  time  alone  down  on  the  beach. 

The  "  Hornet "  nodded  uninterestedly,  and  strolled 
out  on  the  porch.  He  lighted  a  cigarette,  smoked  it, 
tossed  the  stub  away,  and  carelessly  descending  the 
steps,  walked  down  the  quiet,  elm-shaded  street  toward 
the  sea.  The  chauffeur  settled  himself  comfortably 
to  a  game  of  checkers  with  the  hotel  proprietor  in  one 
corner  of  the  office. 

It  was  one  of  those  perfect,  Indian  summer  days, 
when  the  ocean  merely  ripples  against  the  shore,  and 
the  crisp  air  is  delightfully  sun-soaked,  and  the  earth 
is  agleam  with  a  fugitive  and  deceptive  radiance. 

The  "  Hornet "  evidently  enjoyed  it.  Smiling  ap- 
preciatively, and  without  any  appearance  of  haste,  he 
took  his  way  to  the  water's  edge,  and  stood  there  sev- 
eral minutes  gazing  out  to  sea.  Then  he  turned  and 
wandered  in  a  leisurely  way  up  the  beach.  His  glance, 
however,  from  under  his  down-turned  hatbrim, 
sharply  scrutinized  everything  on  the  broad,  sandy 
stretches. 

As  he  approached  a  big,  grass-tufted  dune,  he  saw  a 
woman  sitting  lazily  at  the  foot  of  it,  a  woman  whose 
attention  was  as  evidently  focussed  upon  him  as  his 
was  on  her. 

"  Hello,  sister,"  he  said,  his  smile  widening  as  he 
drew  nearer. 

She  looked  him  up  and  down.  It  was  plain  from 
her  expression  that  she  was  both  puzzled  and  suspi- 
cious. 


206  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  The  voice  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  But  what  have 
you  been  doing  to  yourself  —  if  it  is  really  you?  " 

"  You  allude  to  the  loss  of  my  beauty  spot?  "  He 
touched  his  cheek.  "  An  exigency  required  its  disap- 
pearance —  temporarily.  I'm  young  Lochinvar  him- 
self, though,  all  right.  I've  stayed  not  for  brake,  and 
I've  stopped  not  for  stone  to  reach  your  side.  Give 
me  the  '  once  over '  again.  Look  into  my  eyes, 
darling,  and  lose  your  fears." 

She  followed  his  advice,  searching;  then  she  gave 
a  little  exclamation  expressing  her  admiration.  "  I 
didn't  know  it  could  be  done  like  that.  But  where 
have  you  been  ?  "  She  flashed  a  mocking  glance  at  him. 
"  What  has  kept  you  ?  I've  been  looking  for  you  to 
show  up  every  day  for  a  week." 

"  A  week  ?  Be  exact,  sister ;  be  exact.  Five  days, 
you  mean;  not  seven." 

"  Sure."  She  laughed  amusedly.  It  happened  as  a 
matter  of  fact  to  be  just  five  days  since  by  an  in- 
genious ruse  she  had  got  the  Colvin  papers  from  the 
woman  to  whom  Retta  Johnson  had  at  the  last  mo- 
ment intrusted  them. 

As  she  sat  there  on  the  sand  in  her  white  serge  skirt 
and  white  sweater,  with  a  black  velvet  tarn  on  her 
head,  she  appeared  astonishingly  young.  She  was  a 
small,  slim  creature,  at  once  insouciant  and  appealing. 
She  had  a  delicate  face  with  a  tilted-up,  little  nose, 
and  a  tilted-up,  large  mouth.  Her  hair,  which  was 
light,  and  must  once  have  been  very  flaxen,  was  brushed 
off  her  brow  and  worn  in  a  knot  at  the  back  of  her 
head.  But  her  eyes  were  the  striking  feature  of  her 
face  —  large,  gray-blue  eyes,  wells  of  innocence  and 
candor. 

"  Well  —  it  certainly  is  good  to  see  you  again," 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  207 

The  "  Hornet "  also  settled  himself  comfortably 
against  the  dune.  "  Down  here  for  rest,  they  tell  me. 
You  sure  selected  the  drowsy,  dreamy  place  for  it, 
didn't  you?  We  can  sit  here  all  day  if  we  want  to, 
and  I  can  look  out  at  the  sea,  and  you  can  tell  me 
things.  Wonderful  spot  for  that,"  he  glanced 
around;  "no  one  to  hear,  except  ourselves  and  the 
ocean." 

"  If  I  only  had  anything  to  tell  you,"  she  said  re- 
gretfully. "  But  I  haven't." 

He  shifted  his  position  slightly  so  as  to  turn  toward 
her,  and  looked  at  her  with  admiring  eyes. 

"  Pretty  child !  "  he  said  indulgently.  "  Does  she 
really  think  that  she's  a  match  for  poor,  old,  battle- 
scarred  father?  " 

"  Her  doesn't  think  it."  She  crinkled  her  nose  at 
him,  and  showed  her  white  teeth.  "  Her  knows  she 
is." 

"  The  vaunting  confidence  of  youth,"  he  sighed. 
"  Alas,  I  had  it  once  myself." 

"  Just  so,"  she  teased ;  "  and  you'd  like  to  have  some 
of  it  now,  but  you  haven't." 

The  "  Hornet  "  gazed  thoughtfully  out  at  the  sea  for 
a  minute  or  two.  Then  he  tried  a  new  tack. 

"  Hazel,  do  you  know  I've  been  thinking  of  you 
constantly.  I  haven't  been  able  to  get  you  out  of 
my  head  for  days,  and  — " 

"  Be  exact,  Hornet,"  she  turned  his  own  admonition 
on  him ;  "  be  exact.  "  You  mean,  since  — " 

"  And,"  he  went  on,  unheeding  the  interruption, 
"  I'm  wondering  if  you  wouldn't  like  to  see  a  little 
present  I've  brought  you  —  conditionally." 

"  Oh,  conditionally,  of  course."  There  was  the 
smile  of  a  knowing  gamin  on  her  lips. 


208  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Pie  drew  a  leather  case  from  his  pocket,  and  took 
out  of  it  several  small,  flat,  neatly-folded  packets  of 
white,  tissue  paper.  Then  from  another  pocket  he 
brought  a  handkerchief,  and  spread  it  on  her  lap. 
Opening  one  of  the  packets,  he  laid  it  before  her  on 
the  handkerchief. 

"  Oh !  "  She  hung  breathless  over  it,  immovable. 
Before  she  could  recover  herself,  he  opened  another 
white  slip,  and  laid  it  beside  the  fire.  Jewels!  The 
eternal  lure  which  no  woman  can  resist. 

Upon  her  knees  there  gleamed  a  great,  blue,  Cash- 
mere sapphire  and  a  splendid  diamond  which  caught 
and  held  all  the  life  and  sparkle  of  the  sea.  Six,  seven 
of  them  he  spread  before  her  avid  eyes,  as  she  bent 
over  them  hungrily,  hypnotized  and  enchanted,  in  a 
trance  of  admiration  and  covetousness. 

At  last  she  looked  up  at  him.  Her  face  was  no 
longer  young;  her  eyes  dewily  innocent.  Those  eyes 
were  rapacious,  the  face  sharp. 

"  For  me?  "  she  whispered.     "  For  me?  " 

"  For  you,"  he  replied ;  "  on  one  condition.  Turn 
over  to  me  those  papers  you  have,  and  I'll  give  you 
these  seven  stones  —  the  three  diamonds  and  four 
sapphires." 

She  studied  the  matter  deeply.  Then  she  turned 
over  the  largest  sapphire  carefully  with  her  finger. 

"  How  many  carats?  "  she  asked. 

"  About  seven." 

"And  the  value?" 

"  Eleven  or  twelve  thousand  dollars,  I  should  say." 

With  the  same  careful  finger  she  touched  a  diamond, 
and  asked  the  same  questions,  nodding  as  he  answered 
her. 

She  went  through  some  mental  calculations,  pon- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  209 

dered  a  moment  or  so  longer,  and  then  slowly  shook 
her  head. 

"  Not  enough,"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sky,  his  most  satirically 
amused  smile  playing  across  his  lips. 

"  Don't  try  to  bargain  with  me,  little  one.  I'm  no 
old  clo'  man.  Take  'em,  or  leave  'em,"  he  began  to 
gather  up  the  jewels ;  "  that's  all  you  get.  Whitefield 
only  offers  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  luggage." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  second  out  of  the  corners 
of  her  eyes,  and  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter  so  genu- 
ine and  infectious  that  the  "  Hornet "  couldn't  help 
joining  in. 

"Him?"  Again  her  laughter  pealed.  "Why, 
boy,  he's  going  to  be  a  perpetual  meal-ticket  to  me. 
He'll  pension  me  for  life,  and  be  glad  to." 

The  "Hornet"  stopped  laughing.  "Never  think 
it,  Hazel."  He  shied  a  stone  across  the  beach. 
"  Whitefield's  no  boob." 

But  she  only  laughed  the  harder,  and  continued  to 
glance  at  him  in  that  maddening  fashion  out  of  the 
corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know,"  the  "  Hornet "  spoke  casually,  as 
if  he  were  commenting  on  some  phenomenon  quite  un- 
related to  themselves,  "  you  rouse  strange,  contradic- 
tory ideas  in  my  breast?  One  moment  I  want  to  kiss 
you ;  the  next  to  drown  you." 

"  Too  bad,  you're  not  going  to  do  either." 

"  Don't  be  so  sure."  He  lifted  himself  on  his  el- 
bow. "  I  may  do  both.  You've  been  sidestepping  con- 
sequences for  quite  a  stretch  of  years  now,  my  dear; 
but  there's  always  bound  to  come  a  day,  you  know. 
And  I  have  a  suspicion  —  almost  an  intuition,  you 
might  call  it  —  that  yours  is  just  about  due." 


210  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot,"  she  shook  her  head.  "  I'm 
several  calendars  away  from  it  yet." 

He  straightened  up,  and  faced  about  toward  her. 
"  Now,  look  here,  Hazel ;  let's  get  down  to  business." 

"  By  all  means,"  she  encouraged.  "  We've  had  the 
hors  d'ceuvre  now,  and  I  guess  we're  both  ready  for 
something  solid.  But  I  warn  you,  *  Hornet,'  you'll 
have  to  go  a  little  stronger  than  anything  you've  shown 
me  yet.  I  haven't  much  of  an  appetite  for  —  just 
threats." 

She  still  smiled,  looking  straight  into  his  eyes,  which 
was  a  thing  very  few  persons  cared  to  do,  when  the 
"  Hornet "  was  in  his  present  mood.  For  one  mo- 
ment his  expression  had  never  been  wickeder.  Then 
he  relaxed,  and  lying  back  upon  the  sand,  looked  at  her 
with  lazy  admiration. 

"  You  mean,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  if  you 
shouldn't  show  up  in  New  York  some  day  soon  —  say, 
to-morrow  or  next  day  —  that  a  certain  package  will 
be  delivered  to  Whitefield,  and  the  reward  claimed. 
In  other  words,  you  arranged  in  advance  for  the  un- 
expected pleasure  of  my  visit." 

"  Marvellous !  "  She  clasped  her  hands  in  mock  ad- 
miration. "  Isn't  that  what  Dr.  Watson  always  said 
to  Sherlock  Holmes?" 

"  Quite  so.  Quite  so.  But  you  may  can  these 
spontaneous  tributes  to  my  genius  for  the  present.  It 
doesn't '  intrigue  my  imagination,'  as  I  read  in  a  maga- 
zine story  the  other  day,  at  all.  I  am  more  concerned 
just  now  in  paying  tribute  to  yours.  Do  you  know, 
Hazel,  dear,  outside  of  everything  else,  you  are  the  one 
woman  I've  ever  known  who  didn't  seize  the  first  op- 
portunity to  tell  me  the  story  of  her  life?  " 

"  Dear  me !     In  the  magazine  language  you  have 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  211 

just  been  using,  '  I  fear  I  have  been  guilty  of  an  over- 
sight.' '  She  laughed  again. 

"  No;  honestly,  I'm  interested."  His  curiosity  rang 
genuine.  "  You're  easily  the  best  thing  in  skirts  in 
our  line.  How  did  you  come  to  break  into  the  pro- 
fession? Trained  up  to  it,  were  you?  Was  your 
father—?" 

"  No,"  she  spoke  shortly;  a  veil  of  caution  and  re- 
serve seemed  to  fall  over  her  face.  "  My  people  are 
all  right." 

"Lover,  then?"  he  probed.  "  Somebody  that's  up 
the  river  now?  Is  that  the  reason  you're  on  your 
own?" 

"  Not  me,"  she  repudiated  the  suggestion.  She 
clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees,  and  laid  her  cheek 
down  against  them.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  was  si- 
lent. 

"  I  don't  get  you  exactly,  *  Hornet,' "  she  said  at 
last,  slowly.  "What's  the  idea?  Since  you  seem  to 
be  on  the  level,  though,  and  really  wanting  to  waste 
your  time,  I  don't  mind  being  good-natured.  But  you 
want  to  understand  before  I  start  that  there  are  no 
particular  thrills;  this  isn't  a  story  that  would  go  in  the 
movies. 

"  To  begin,  then,  I  was  born  in  a  country  town,  and 
I  was  born  with  my  eyes  wide  open.  I  went  through 
the  schools  at  my  home  place,  and  then  when  I  was 
seventeen,  I —  No,  you  guessed  wrong,"  she 
laughed ;  "  I  didn't  come  to  the  great  city  and  fall  a 
victim  to  its  terrible  and  unsuspected  pitfalls.  I  came 
to  New  York  all  right,  but  as  for  the  pitfalls  —  Well, 
if  you've  been  brought  up  in  a  country  town,  you 
know  more  about  life  and  human  nature  than  New 
York  can  teach  you  in  a  thousand  years. 


212  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  I  had  to  earn  my  own  living ;  so  I  looked  over  the 
field,  and  studied  the  various  ways  which  are  open  to 
a  woman.  I  could  make  a  bare  living  with  my  hands 
—  cooking,  sewing,  or  in  somebody's  office,  or  shop. 
I  could  make  a  living  with  my  looks,  a  good  one  prob- 
ably —  for  a  limited  time.  Or  I  could  live  on  my 
wits.  That  was  the  way  I  chose. 

"  I  took  the  little  money  I  had  brought  to  the  city 
with  me,  and  spent  it  in  qualifying  myself  for  the  job 
of  lady's  maid.  I  learned  hair-dressing,  manicuring, 
facial  massage,  and  all  that,  and  got  a  place  in  a  big 
house.  Then  I  angled  around  until  I  got  a  fly  cop  for 
my  steady,  a  young  *  dick '  from  down  at  Headquar- 
ters. From  him,  I  learned  all  the  dangers  and  possi- 
bilities of  the  game  I  was  aiming  to  play.  Poor  boy, 
he  never  dropped  for  a  minute  to  what  I  was  really 
after.  Then,  one  night  when  I  had  everything  fixed, 
I  cleaned  out  Madame's  jewel  case,  and  got  away  with 
it.  That  was  my  start.  Since  then,  I've  just  gone  on. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it,  '  Hornet ' ;  everything  there  is 
to  tell." 

"  You  little  devil ! "  he  grinned  appreciatively. 
"  How  do  you  keep  up  that  innocent,  kid  look,  though  ? 
You  haven't  changed  a  day  since  I  saw  you  first,  and 
that  must  have  been  —  Oh,  at  least  six  or  seven  years 
ago." 

He  lay  against  the  sun-warmed  dune,  and  again 
gazed  out  to  sea.  Occasionally,  as  she  watched  him, 
she  saw  his  eyes  contract  a  bit.  For  fifteen  minutes 
perhaps  he  lay  there,  quite  motionless,  his  attention  ab- 
sorbed apparently  in  following  a  distant  sail. 

Finally  he  gave  signs  of  returning  life.  He  turned 
over  on  his  side,  and  gave  a  chuckle  of  sinister  amuse- 
ment. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  213 

"  You're  a  wonder,  Hazel,"  he  complimented  her. 
"  Lord,  if  I  wasn't  sick  of  the  rotten  game,  or  if  I  were 
ten  years  younger,  I'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  go 
into  partnership  with  you.  Believe  me,  we'd  spoil  the 
Egyptians." 

She  didn't  like  his  tone,  and  she  didn't  like  that 
chuckle.  It  was  altogether  too  well  satisfied.  She 
stirred  a  little  restlessly,  and  shot  another  sidewise 
glance  at  him. 

"  This  is  a  dead  hole,"  she  said  uneasily.  "  I  only 
came  down  here  because  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good 
safe  place  to  hear  what  you  had  to  say." 

"  I  think  I  spoke  very  eloquently,"  he  replied ;  "  in 
sapphires  and  diamonds.  Look  here,  my  child,"  he 
edged  a  bit  nearer  her,  his  tone  grew  earnest ;  "  I  want 
you  to  listen  to  me  a  moment,  and  think  hard  over  what 
I'm  telling  you.  I  am  offering  an  extravagant  price 
for  those  papers.  Honestly,  they  aren't  worth  a 
tinker's  darn  to  me  personally.  I'm  only  after  them 
to  oblige  a  friend  of  mine.  That's  straight.  You 
know  me,  and  you  know  that  you  can  believe  what  I 
say. 

"  Now  just  cast  your  eyes  over  them  again."  He 
took  the  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  and  spread  the 
glittering  jewels  once  more  before  her.  "  Beauties, 
aren't  they?  Enough  to  dazzle  any  man's  eyes,  and 
make  any  woman's  mouth  water.  And  further  than 
that,"  he  tapped  the  back  of  his  hand  with  his  fore- 
finger to  give  emphasis  to  his  words,  "  I'll  pay  you 
five  thousand  cash  to  boot ;  put  the  money  in  your  lit- 
tle hand  right  now,  if  you  say  so."  He  took  a  bill- 
fold from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  opening 
it,  ruffled  a  great  sheaf  of  bills  with  his  fingers.  From 
among  them,  he  drew  out  a  dozen  of  large  denomina- 


214  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

tion,  and  laid  them  with  the  jewels.  "  Look  'em  over," 
he  said;"  fed  *em." 

"  The  finest  sight  in  the  world."  She  clutched  them 
in  her  hands.  "  They  touch  almost  as  good  as  your 
blue  and  white  stones." 

"  And  it's  all  yours,"  he  urged.  "  Count  it.  A  cool 
five  thousand  in  cash,  and  the  seven  stones.  All  yours, 
the  minute  you  turn  over  that  package  to  me." 

She  bit  her  lip,  and  stared  out  at  the  ocean,  then 
back  again  at  the  jewels  in  her  lap  and  the  money  in 
her  hand.  There  was  a  burning  greed  in  her  eyes  as 
she  huddled  over  the  stones,  avarice  in  the  very  way 
she  grasped  the  money. 

"  It's  the  only  thing  to  do,  Hazel,"  he  went  on  per- 
suasively ;  "  and  in  telling  you  that,  I'm  looking  at  the 
proposition  from  your  side  as  well  as  from  my  own. 
If  anybody  could  put  the  trick  over  on  Whitefield,  it's 
you ;  but  it's  a  mighty  ticklish  job,  little  girl,  a  mighty 
ticklish  job.  He's  no  mark,  my  dear,  but  a  smooth 
old  bird,  as  smooth  as  they  make  'em;  and  more  than 
that,  he's  got  the  very  best  of  'em  down  at  Headquar- 
ters at  his  elbow.  If  they  can't  get  you  any  other 
way,  they'll  frame  you;  you  know  that,  don't  you? 
It's  too  much  of  a  gamble,  dearie.  Better  take  the  sure 
thing,  and  close  with  me. 

"  Besides,"  his  eyes  narrowed,  "  there's  another 
slant  to  it,  which  you  seem  to  have  overlooked.  If 
you  do  business  with  Whitefield,  you'll  be  double-cross- 
ing me,  and  I've  got  a  long  memory,  as  you  may 
have  heard.  I've  told  you  that  those  papers  don't 
mean  anything  to  me,  and  they  don't  in  one  way.  But 
you  surely  don't  imagine  that  I'm  paying  five  thousand 
and  these  stones  for  a  bunch  of  soap  wrappers.  I  want 
that  package  for  my  partner  —  a  poor  devil  that  White- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  215 

field  framed  and  did  for  fifteen  years  ago.  They 
mean  the  earth  to  him,  Hazel,  the  whole  round  earth, 
and  all  that's  in  it.  Have  a  heart,  girl.  My  God,  have 
a  heart." 

"  Give  me  a  cigarette,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  I  want 
to  think."  She  took  one  from  the  case  he  offered  her, 
lighted  it  at  the  match  he  held  for  her,  and  then  sat, 
a  hunched-up,  little  figure,  smoking  and  staring  off 
across  the  waves. 

When  nothing  remained  of  the  cigarette  but  its  cork 
tip,  she  threw  that  away,  straightened  up,  handed  the 
"  Hornet "  back  his  money,  and  motioned  him  to 
gather  up  the  jewels  from  her  lap. 

"  You  know  I'd  do  a  lot  to  oblige  you,  *  Hornet,' ' 
she  lifted  her  guileless  eyes,  smiling  sweetly,  "  and 
ready-to-wear  stones  and  ready-to-spend  money  are 
mighty  tempting.  Also,  what  you  say  about  the  risks 
and  the  danger  I  am  chancing  is  all  true.  But  you  see, 
this  is  just  one  of  those  cases  which  appeals  to  one's 
professional  pride.  I've  got  my  heart  set  on  trimming 
Whitefield.  Everything  else  in  sight  is  too  dead  easy." 
She  sighed  with  ennui. 

Then  she  dropped  her  pose  for  a  moment,  and  a 
gust  of  almost  stormy  emotion  swept  her  cool  little 
face. 

"  Hornet,  it's  a  rotten  life,  as  you  said  a  bit  ago. 
I'm  sick  of  it.  You're  all  right,  and  I'd  do  a  lot  for 
you;  honest,  I  would.  But  whatever  you'd  offer 
wouldn't  be  enough.  You  can't  raise  it,  boy.  White- 
field,  though !  There's  millions  there.  He'll  pay,  and 
pay,  and  pay  before  I  get  through  with  him  —  that  is, 
if  he  falls  for  me  at  all."  She  paused,  and  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  naive  glance.  "  Think  I  can  get  him, 
Hornet?" 


216  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  You  could  get  any  man  you  go  after,"  he  said 
brusquely ;  "  even  me." 

"  I  want  the  big  coin,"  her  lips  pouted  resentfully ; 
"  and  I  want  it  settled  on  me  for  life.  No  hand-outs 
of  five  or  ten  thousand  sandwiched  in  conditions.  I'm 
playing  for  a  million,  I  tell  you.  Anything  less  is 
chicken  feed  to  me.  It  takes  a  million  to  satisfy  me." 

"  And  that  won't  long,"  cynically. 

"  Then  I'll  get  more.  If  you've  got  one  million  to 
start  on,  you  ought  to  make  twenty.  Bet  you  I  could." 

"  I'm  not  giving  odds  on  what  you  could  do,  or  what 
you  will  do,"  he  returned.  "  All  I  want  out  of  you 
just  now  is  to  keep  quiet.  You've  upset  my  calcula- 
tions, and  I've  got  to  think  —  got  to  dope  out  a  new 
line  of  action.  One  way  or  another,  I'm  going  to  have 
those  papers,  even  if  I  have  to  break  your  neck  to  get 
them." 

He  dropped  back  again  against  the  dune,  and  set- 
tled himself  to  renewed  meditations,  while  she  sat 
quietly  awaiting  the  result. 

"  All  right !  "  he  said  at  last.  "  I  see  my  way  clear, 
without  resorting  to  the  painful  necessity  of  garroting 
you,  or  flinging  you  to  the  fishes.  You've  made  things 
deuced  unpleasant  for  me,  and  are  forcing  me  now  to 
a  play  that  I'd  give  a  farm  to  keep  away  from.  But 
I  forgive  you,  Hazel ;  I  forgive  you." 

"  That  for  your  forgiveness ! "  She  snapped  her 
fingers.  "  I  think  I  understand  this  play  you  have  in 
mind.  But  don't  make  any  mistake,  Hornet;  I'm  not 
asleep  at  the  switch." 

He  smiled  upon  her  with  a  saurian  benevolence. 
"  Distrustful  still  ?  "  He  shook  his  head.  "  My  dear, 
I'm  not  going  to  raise  a  finger  to  interfere  with  your 
delivery  of  those  papers  to  Whitefield.  Play  your 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  217 

game,  little  one,  play  it  to  the  limit.  Only  when  the 
time  comes  for  you  to  give  him  the  papers,  I  want  a 
favor,  and  in  return  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  any 
one  of  those  three  diamonds  I  showed  you.  Just  the 
slightest  of  favors,  Hazel." 

She  eyed  him  warily.  "  A  favor.  Three  carats  of 
blue-white  diamond  for  a  favor?  I'm  afraid  that's 
not  an  order  which  our  house  would  care  to  take. 
What  is  it  you  want,  though?  "  she  demanded  abruptly. 
"Forgery?" 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear.  Nothing  so  crude  as  that. 
I  merely  want  you  to  let  me  name  the  place  and  the 
time  of  day  when,  if  your  negotiations  are  successful, 
you  will  transfer  the  package  of  papers  to  Whitefield, 
and  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  not  be  interrupted  in 
their  delivery,  nor  interfered  with  in  any  way." 

She  considered  this  for  a  moment,  plainly  puzzled. 

"  That's  all  ?  Sure  ?  "  she  asked  searchingly.  "  No 
string  to  it?  Yet  you  must  have  some  reason." 

"  I  have,  but  it's  a  reason  that  does  not  in  any  way 
concern  you,  or  affect  your  graft.  Didn't  I  tell  you, 
my  dear,  that  working  together,  you  and  I  could  trim 
the  world.  Well,  here's  where  we  take  a  little  whirl  at 
it.  Come  now,  give  me  your  hand  and  promise  me 
that  it's  a  go." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  longer;  then  slowly  ex- 
tended her  hand  and  laid  it  in  his. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  "  Hornet  "  arose  and  dusted  the  sand  from  his 
clothes. 

"  Well,  now  that  that's  settled,  I  must  be  getting 
back  to  town."  He  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  quarter  after  twelve." 

"  Oh,  then  I  must  be  going,  too."  She  held  out  her 
hand  for  him  to  help  her  up.  "  We  can  walk  back  to 
the  Inn  together.  Why  don't  you  stay  and  take  lunch- 
eon with  me?  "  she  suggested,  as  they  started  off  across 
the  sands. 

The  "  Hornet "  did  not  answer  immediately.  His 
attention  was  focussed  upon  a  small,  mouse-like  man 
a  hundred  yards  away  along  the  beach. 

What  on  earth,  he  wondered,  could  have  brought 
Wimms  down  there? 

It  cann6t  be  said  that  his  tried  and  faultless  self- 
control  gave  way.  Neither  by  start,  nor  change  of 
expression  did  he  betray  himself  even  to  the  sharp  eyes 
of  his  companion ;  but  there  was  a  perceptible  pause  — 
a  hiatus,  so  to  speak  —  in  which  a  score  of  apprehen- 
sive surmises  and  suspicions  jumbled  in  his  brain. 

Then,  as  she  repeated  her  invitation,  he  explained 
regretfully  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  ac- 
cept. 

"  Sorry,  my  dear.  There's  nothing  I  would  like 
better.  But,  in  the  language  of  our  calling,  I've  got 
three  fall-guys  up  in  New  York  that  I'm  planning  to 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  219 

throw  the  hooks  into  this  afternoon,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  let  them  get  away." 

By  this  time  the  furtive  figure  of  Wimms  sidling 
among  the  dunes  like  a  crab  was  almost  abreast  of 
them. 

"  Also,"  said  the  "  Hornet,"  raising  his  voice 
slightly,  "another  fellow  wants  to  see  me  —  one  of 
those  human  pests  who  are  always  turning  up  at  the 
wrong  time  —  and  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  stop  and 
give  him  a  few  minutes  on  my  road  back  to  town.  So, 
you  see,  Hazel,  this  is  my  busy  day." 

He  laughed  lightly,  and  glanced  toward  Wimms  who 
was  just  passing.  Neither  gave  the  slightest  sign  of 
recognition;  it  was  the  mere  impersonal  scrutiny  of 
strangers  which  they  bent  upon  one  another.  Wimms 
continued  on  his  way  up  the  beach;  the  "  Hornet  "  and 
Miss  Phillips  toward  the  Inn. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  "  Hornet's  "  easy  flow  of 
repartee,  as  they  walked  on,  to  indicate  that  he  was 
either  preoccupied  or  perplexed ;  and  yet  he  was  both. 
His  flippant  banter  with  the  girl  was  but  a  thing  of  the 
surface;  underneath,  he  was  trying  to  puzzle  out  the 
reason  for  Wimms's  unexpected  appearance. 

That  it  was  to  see  and  talk  with  him,  he  could  not 
doubt;  no  other  errand  could  have  brought  the  valet 
down  to  this  out-of-the-way  village  and  lonely  stretch 
of  shore.  He  knew,  too,  or  thought  he  knew,  that 
Wimms  would  never  have  followed  him  in  such  a  man- 
ner, unless  it  were  a  matter  of  immediate  importance. 
Colvin  must  have  sent  him,  and  Colvin,  who  was 
neither  rash  nor  impulsive,  would  not  have  done  so, 
except  in  the  case  of  some  pressing  exigency.  More- 
over, "  Buffalo "  was  the  only  person  from  whom 
Wimms  could  have  gained  a  knowledge  of  his  present 


220  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

whereabouts,  and  "  Buffalo "  would  have  been  ex- 
tremely chary  about  giving  such  information  even  to 
Wimms,  unless  he  were  thoroughly  convinced  of  the 
urgency  of  his  mission.  The  circumstance,  there- 
fore, could  mean  but  one  of  two  things  —  either  a 
warning  to  him,  or  an  S.  O.  S.  call  for  assistance. 

So  pleading  the  necessity  of  haste  in  getting  back  to 
town,  he  said  good-by  to  Hazel  Phillips,  and  was 
whirled  away.  A  short  distance  down  the  road, 
though,  he  halted  his  car,  and  telling  the  chauffeur 
to  wait  for  him,  once  more  set  off  toward  the  shore. 

Nearing  the  ocean,  his  eye  raked  the  wastes  of  sand. 
The  beach  was  almost  deserted;  a  few  children  dug 
and  built  castles,  and  one  or  two  women  sat  and 
watched  them,  but  there  was  not  a  man  in  sight.  The 
"  Hornet "  swore  under  his  breath ;  but  even  as  he  did 
so,  Wimms  made  one  of  his  sudden,  disconcerting 
materializations,  coming  out  from  behind  a  dune. 

The  "  Hornet  "  took  a  hasty  step  or  two  toward  him. 
"  What's  up  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  "  Did  Vernon 
send  you  after  me?  " 

"  Mr.  Vernon?  Oh,  no;  not  at  all,  sir."  Wimms 
shrank  back  apologetically,  almost  timidly.  "  I  came 
quite  on  my  own." 

"You  did,  eh?  You  trailed  me  down  here  like 
this  ?  What  the  devil  did  you  mean  by  it  ?  Was  it  so 
important  that  you  couldn't  wait  ?  " 

The  "  Hornet's  "  eyes  were  as  savage  as  his  voice, 
and  Wimms  shrivelled  to  even  smaller  proportions  un- 
der that  double  fire. 

"  Important  ?  Well,  yes,  sir ;  in  a  way,  quite  so," 
he  endeavored  to  speak  placatingly.  "  I  couldn't  bear 
to  think  of  ready  money  —  pick-up  money,  you  might 
say  —  slipping  through  my  fingers,  and  that  would 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  221 

have  been  the  case,  sir,  if  I  hadn't  got  to  see  you.  So, 
as  the  risk  really  wasn't  great,  I  took  a  chance." 

The  "  Hornet's "  first  feeling  was  one  of  relief. 
And  with  the  relief  he  was  stirred  to  a  sense  of  curios- 
ity. What  had  the  little  wretch  in  mind?  Wimms 
would  never  have  dared  such  an  expedition  unless  there 
was  something  big  in  sight,  something  eminently  worth 
while. 

"  Money  would  have  to  slip  mighty  fast  to  get 
through  your  fingers,"  his  lip  twisted;  "  but  just  what 
ready  money  are  you  talking  about,  may  I  ask  ?  Don't 
take  all  day  to  spin  it  out,  either.  I've  got  to  be  off." 

"  It's  a  little  matter  of  fifteen  thousand  cash,  sir, 
and—" 

"Fifteen  thousand!"  The  "Hornet's"  voice 
rasped  with  quick  irritation.  "  Who  told  you  to  go 
prospecting  off  on  any  such  lay-out?  This  is  no  time 
for  a  job  on  the  side." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir,"  Wimms  agreed  hastily.  "  But 
you  see,  the  lady  that  called  on  Mr.  Vernon  day  before 
yesterday,  she  told  me  — " 

"Ah?  The  lady  that  called  on  Mr.  Vernon?"  in- 
terrupted the  "  Hornet "  again,  looking  at  him  with 
new  interest.  "  How  the  dickens  did  you  get  to  talk- 
ing with  her?  " 

"  Just  a  word,  sir ;  just  a  word.  It  was  when  the 
visit  of  the  Inspector  rather  took  her  and  Mr.  Vernon 
unaware,  as  you  might  say.  He  hurried  her  out  into 
the  room  where  I  was  replacing  some  clothes  in  his 
wardrobe,  and  closing  the  door,  left  us  alone  together. 
She  was  in  trouble,  that  was  plain  to  be  seen,  sir ;  and 
I'm  very  tender-hearted  —  chivalrous  is  perhaps  the 
better  word  —  I  always  like  to  know  what  ails  'em, 
and  be  of  help  if  I  can.  I  suppose,  sir,  she  felt  my 


222  THE  HORNET'S  XEST 

unspoken  sympathy;  for  it  was  scarcely  any  time  be- 
fore she'd  confided  to  me  all  about  the  loss  of  her  sap- 
phires, and  how  she  had  to  get  them  back,  and  how 
she  stood  ready  to  pay  for  them." 

"  And  fifteen  thousand  was  all  that  you  could  do 
with  her,  eh?" 

Wimms  winced  before  the  acid  sarcasm  in  the  "  Hor- 
net's "  voice. 

"  A  moment,  sir,  please.  First,  she  offered  some 
trifling  sum  —  I  forget  just  what  now  —  but  I  told  her 
I  couldn't  think  of  it,  and  I  kept  shaking  my  head  at 
each  raise  she'd  make  until  she  reached  her  limit.  You 
can  always  tell  by  the  look  in  their  eyes,  when  they 
can't  wring  out  another  cent  —  sort  of  desperate  and 
final-like.  She  swore  to  me  that  fifteen  thousand  was 
the  most  that  she  could  give,  and  that  meant  taking 
some-awful  chances.  I'm  weak,  sir  —  I'll  admit  it  — 
but  I  never  could  bear  to  see  a  woman  in  tears.  And 
fifteen  thousand,  you  know,  sir,  isn't  to  be  sneezed  at." 

"  It  isn't,  eh?  For  the  return  of  a  set  of  sapphires 
conservatively  valued  at  something  over  half  a  million? 
And  you  promised  to  get  them  for  her  without  the 
slightest  idea  where  they  might  be  found.  Oh, 
Wimms,  Wimms,  I'm  afraid  that  you  are  right;  chiv- 
alrous is  the  word  for  you,  after  all." 

The  "  Hornet "  laughed  consumedly.  Then  his 
grating  mirth  ended  abruptly. 

"  You  must  be  losing  your  wits,  chasing  me  down 
here,  to  take  up  my  time  with  this  rot." 

Wimms  looked  up  at  him  with  a  touch  of  nai've 
drollery,  as  if  to  say:  "  What's  the  use  of  keeping  up 
a  pretense  with  me  ?  " 

"  Lord,  sir !  "  He  spread  out  his  palms  deprecat- 
ingly.  "  Life's  so  full  of  chances.  Something's  al- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  223 

ways  apt  to  turn  up  at  any  minute.  How  was  I  to 
know  that  those  stones  might  not  come  into  my  hands  ? 
To  quiet  the  lady,  I  promised  to  call  on  her  at  three 
o'clock  that  afternoon,  but  of  course  I  didn't  go.  In- 
stead, I  rang  her  up  on  the  'phone  and  told  her  that 
I  had  not  as  yet  been  able  to  get  my  hands  on  her  stones, 
but  not  to  worry,  as  I  undoubtedly  would  have  them 
for  her,  probably  within  a  day  or  so,  certainly  before 
the  end  of  the  week." 

The  "  Hornet "  stared  at  the  mouse  man.  It  was 
quite  beyond  him  to  understand  this  incongruity  of 
spirit  and  flesh  which  Wimms  so  strikingly  exempli- 
fied. 

"  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  faze  me,"  he  said,  "  but, 
Wimms,  I'll  have  to  hand  it  to  you.  As  a  player  of 
long  shots,  I've  never  met  your  equal.  Yet  why  these 
promises  to  the  lady,  and  why  do  you  come  with  them 
to  me?"  He  frowned.  "Surely,  you're  not  seri- 
ously proposing  the  surrender  of  those  sapphires  — 
worth  a  king's  ransom, —  for  a  mere  fifteen  thousand 
dollars?  It  must  be  that  you  are  afflicted  with  the 
artistic  imagination,  Wimms,  also  with  the  artistic 
temperament.  The  artist  is  notoriously  a  poor  busi- 
ness man.  Still  I  have  never  discovered  any  symptoms 
of  the  sort  in  you  hitherto,  and  I  am  loth  to  believe  in 
it  now.  So,  if  you  have  any  explanation  or  defense  to 
offer,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  listen.  Please  advise  me 
clearly  and  without  circumlocution  —  in  words  of  one 
syllable,  so  to  speak  —  just  what  you  are  driving  at." 

The  valet  cocked  an  eye  at  him  with  a  respectfully 
impudent  air  peculiarly  his  own. 

"  It's  just  a  feeling  with  me,  sir,  a  matter  of  princi- 
ple in  a  way.  As  I  tell  you,  I  can't  bear  to  see  good 
money  slip  away  from  me.  If  fifteen  thousand  dollars 


224  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

was  offered  me  for  the  moon,  I  suppose  I'd  take  a  shy 
at  it;  or,  rather,"  he  paused  significantly,  "  I'd  take  a 
shy  at  making  the  party  think  I  was  getting  it.  Now, 
as  you  say,  sir,  when  the  lady  spoke  to  me  about  her 
sapphires,  I  hadn't  an  idea  in  my  head  where  they 
might  be,  and  I  haven't  now ;  but  you  know  so  many 
things,  and  you're  so  clever,"  again  he  flashed  that 
quick  glance  of  understanding,  "  well,  I  thought  that 
maybe  you  could  help  me  out." 

The  "  Hornet "  laughed,  and  in  that  harsh  chuckle 
of  his  rang  his  old  challenge  to  the  world.  Then  he 
cut  his  amusement  short. 

"  Yes,  but  that  doesn't  explain  why  you  have  come 
tearing  down  here  into  the  country  after  me.  Couldn't 
you  have  waited  until  I  was  back  in  town?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  due  to  Mr.  Vernon,  sir." 

"  To  Vernon  ?  I  thought  you  said  he  knew  nothing 
about  it." 

"  He  doesn't.  But  he  was  at  the  lady's  house  last 
night,  at  a  ball." 

"Surely.     What  of  it?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Vernon  —  begging  your  pardon,  sir  — 
isn't  just  like  you  and  me.  He  has  notions,  scruples 
you  might  call  them,  that  are  a  detriment  in  this  line  of 
work.  And  there's  been  something  between  him  and 
that  lady;  I  don't  know  just  what,  but  something.  I 
gathered  that,  when  he  was  talking  to  her  at  our  rooms 
the  other  morning.  So,  when  I  learned  that  he  was 
going  to  this  ball,  I  began  to  fear  that  he  might  in 
some  way — "  Wimms  hesitated  as  if  for  a  suitable 
phrase. 

"  Might  spill  the  beans,"  supplied  the  "  Hornet." 

"  Thank  you.  Quite  so,  sir.  So  I  managed  to  get 
acquainted  with  one  of  the  staff  at  the  house,  and 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  225 

arranged  to  have  an  eye  kept  on  him.  Late  last  night, 
or  rather  this  morning,  sir,  the  party  I  speak  of  re- 
ported to  me  that  his  mistress  and  Mr.  Vernon  had 
been  having  a  long,  private  interview  in  her  personal 
sitting-room.  What  passed  between  them,  the  party 
could  not  say,  it  being  inconvenient  to  listen  closely 
when  so  many  was  about,  but  on  two  occasions  he 
heard  their  voices  raised  high,  he  says,  and  when  they 
came  out  both  showed  traces  of  agitation." 

"  H'm!  "  the  "  Hornet "  commented  thoughtfully. 

"  Consequently,  sir,"  continued  Wimms,  "  I  felt  that 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Trust  the  lady  to  have 
got  some  sort  of  an  advantage  out  of  an  hour's  inter- 
view. You  never  can  tell  what  a  woman's  up  to,  sir, 
or  what  she  will  do.  I  only  feel  that  the  fifteen  thou- 
sand ought  to  be  got  from  her  without  delay,  this  after- 
noon if  possible. 

"  You  wouldn't  really  have  to  give  up  the  stones  to 
her,"  he  urged,  forgetting  in  his  eagerness  to  keep  up 
the  pretense  between  them.  "Of  course  I  never  for  a 
moment  thought  of  that.  You  would  only —  But 
you  know  what  I  mean,  sir." 

The  "  Hornet "  laughed  again,  but  shook  his  head. 
"  Yes,  I  know  well  enough  what  you  mean,  you  old 
rascal;  but  I've  cut  it  all  out,  Wimms.  The  hot,  red 
blood  of  youth  no  longer  flows  in  my  veins.  I  don't 
suppose  I'll  ever  get  entirely  away  from  the  lure  of  the 
big  chance,"  he  was  speaking  more  to  himself  now 
than  to  his  companion,  his  reflective  smile  deepening 
the  lines  about  his  mouth ;  "  but  it  will  only  be  such  a 
chance  as  society  countenances.  Yet,  oh,  how  true  it 
is,  that  when  we  strive  to  lead  the  better,  in  other 
words,  the  hypocritical  life,  our  past  continually  rises 
up  to  set  traps  and  temptations  for  our  feet." 


226  THE  HORNET'S  XEST 

Wimms  looked  bewildered.  "  I'm  sure,  I  wish  I 
had  your  past,  sir.  You  always  got  the  fat  without 
burning  your  fingers." 

The  "  Hornet,"  however,  was  not  listening.  His 
eyes  became  more  concentrated.  Finally  he  lifted  his 
head. 

"If  I've  got  to  take  one  shot,"  he  muttered  cryptic- 
ally, "  I  might  as  well  take  another." 

'  You  see,  sir,  there's  absolutely  no  risk,"  insinuated 
Wimms  at  his  elbow.  "  When  the  lady  finds  out  that 
she  hasn't  got  her  jewels,  nor  her  money  either,  what 
can  she  do  about  it?  Her  hands  are  tied." 

"  Just  so.  What  a  clear,  concise  way  you  have  of 
putting  things.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  adopt  any  holier- 
than-thou  attitude,  Wimms,  but  I  must  remind  you  that 
I  am  not  of  the  gold-brick  brotherhood.  Cheer  up, 
though,"  as  Wimms's  face  took  on  a  tinge  of  deep  de- 
jection ;  "  there  are  more  ways  than  one  of  killing  a 
cat." 

He  paused,  as  if  considering  a  moment  longer;  then 
his  queer,  twisted  smile  flashed  over  his  lips.  He  had 
evidently  reached  a  determination. 

"  Tell  you  what,  Wimms,  there's  only  one  way  to 
manage  this  that  will  be  satisfactory  to  everybody." 

Wimms  looked  at  him,  still  bewildered,  but  hopeful 
now. 

"How  is  that,  sir?" 

The  "  Hornet  "  explained. 

"  You,  Wimms,  shall  return  the  lady  her  sapphires. 
A  splendid  deed  that,  true  chivalry  thus  to  restore  sev- 
eral hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  jewels  to 
beauty  in  distress.  It  ought  to  appeal  highly  to  that 
knightly  soul  you  were  boasting  of  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Then  everybody's  happy.  Ah !  "  he  rolled  up  his  eyes, 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  227 

"  playing  god  of  the  machine  does  have  its  compensa- 
tions after  all." 

Wimms,  however,  failed  to  betray  any  great  degree 
of  enthusiasm.  On  the  contrary,  as  the  "  Hornet  " 
unfolded  his  plan,  he  appeared  at  once  to  contract  and 
collapse.  His  mouth  fell  open,  and  he  stared  as  if  he 
thought  that  the  other  had  taken  leave  of  his  senses. 

"But  —  but — "  he  stammered  incoherently  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  recovering  himself  in  a  measure,  he 
voiced  a  vehement,  if  still  outwardly  respectful  protest. 

"  But,  sir,  that  would  be  really  letting  the  lady  have 
her  stones  for  the  fifteen  thousand.  And,  as  you've 
said,  they're  worth  a  half  a  million.  I  beg  your  par- 
don, sir,  but  I  can't  see  it.  It  don't  seem  reasonable, 
sir.  It  ain't  in  nature.  Now,  if  you  would  only  - 

"  Don't  worry,"  the  "  Hornet "  cut  in  with  an  im- 
patient gesture ;  "  I  know  what  I'm  about.  You  go 
ahead  as  I  tell  you;  pocket  our  fifteen  thousand,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  me.  There  is,  however,  one  stipulation 
I  want  to  make,"  and  strangely  enough  it  was  the  same 
sort  of  a  request  he  had  made  of  Hazel  Phillips  only  a 
short  time  before.  "  I  must  dictate  the  time  and  the 
place  at  which  you  will  turn  over  to  the  lady  her  jew- 
els. Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  sir."  With  the  "  Hornet's  "  assurance, 
Wimms  had  resumed  his  normal  manner  and  expres- 
sion. His  faith  in  human  nature,  and  in  the  "  Hor- 
net's "  quality  of  human  nature  was  fully  restored. 
"  Very  good,  sir.  Much  obliged,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  now,"  the  "  Hornet "  frowned  as  he  looked 
at  his  watch,  "  I  must  get  back  to  town.  You'd  better 
take  the  train,  Wimms.  I  won't  offer  you  a  seat  in  my 
car.  No  need  of  taking  any  chances  of  being  seen 
together." 


228  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Quite  so,  sir." 

They  parted,  and  ten  minutes  later  the  "  Hornet's  " 
motor  was  making  such  speed  along  the  road  leading 
back  toward  the  city  as  its  engine  and  the  occasional 
proximity  of  a  rural  constable  permitted. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  the  "  Hornet "  arrived  in  town,  he  found  that 
it  was  still  too  early  to  keep  the  appointments  which, 
as  he  had  intimated  to  Hazel  Phillips,  he  had  for  that 
afternoon  with  various  lords  of  high  finance.  Conse- 
quently, mindful  of  the  adage,  "  Satan  finds  some  mis- 
chief still  for  idle  hands  to  do,"  he  repaired  to  his 
lodgings,  and  there  began  the  task  of  resetting  the 
few  sapphires  he  had  extracted  from  the  necklace  for 
the  purpose  of  dazzling  the  eyes  of  Miss  Phillips. 

The  "  Hornet's  "  lodgings  were  so  arranged  as  to 
make  any  unexpected  intrusion  upon  him  difficult,  so 
he  worked  away  without  fear  of  interruption,  absorbed 
in  his  delicate  task. 

The  shrill  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell  aroused  him 
with  a  start,  and  with  an  instinctive  movement  of  cau- 
tion he  covered  over  the  jewels  with  his  hand  as  he 
reached  for  the  receiver.  He  drew  a  breath  of  relief, 
when  he  found  that  it  was  Colvin  who  was  calling. 

"  So  you're  there  at  last?  "  Ashe's  tone  showed  a 
similar  relief.  "  I've  been  ringing  you  up  at  intervals 
ever  since  last  night,  and  I'd  begun  to  get  anxious  over 
my  failures,  especially  as  my  man  seems  to  have  dis- 
appeared, too.  I  got  home  from  the  dance  last  night 
to  find  no  Wimms,  and  nothing  have  I  heard  of  him 
since.  I  began  to  believe  that  the  spooks  or  something 
must  have  spirited  you  both  away.  You  have  no  idea 
what  has  become  of  him,  have  you?  " 

He  was  endeavoring  to  speak  casually  in  accordance 


230  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

with  their  agreement,  but  it  was  evident  from  his  tone 
that  he  was  perturbed. 

"  Oh,  Wimms  is  all  right,"  the  "  Hornet  "  assured 
him.  "  He'll  be  showing  up  in  a  little  while.  But  tell 
me  about  the  dance.  Did  you  have  a  good  time?  " 

"  So  so.  A  lady  gave  me  a  rather  uncomfortable 
half  hour." 

He  stopped,  wondering  how  with  the  veiled  speech 
which  the  "  Hornet "  had  prescribed  for  their  tele- 
phone conversations,  he  was  to  convey  to  the  other  the 
salient  features  of  his  talk  with  Freda,  its  high  lights, 
and  the  mental  turmoil  and  uncertainty  into  which  he 
had  been  plunged  by  it. 

"  A  lady  gave  you  an  uncomfortable  half  hour,"  re- 
peated the  "  Hornet."  "  Well,  that's  a  way  they  have. 
Was  she  young  or  old  ?  " 

"  When  we  danced  together,  she  preferred  to  waltz, 
and  she  asked  the  musicians  to  play  The  Blue  Danube. 
Does  that  answer  your  question  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  have  her  picture.  And  I  think  I 
see,  too,  what  she  was  after.  Did  she  succeed?  " 

"  In  that  respect,  yes.  But  she  had  a  stronger  mo- 
tive. She  thinks  I  can  find  some  valuables  which  she 
has  lost,  seems  to  imagine  apparently  that  I  am  a  sort 
of  a  fortune-teller,  or  seer,  and  declares  if  I  don't  exert 
my  occult  powers  in  her  behalf,  she  will  get  even 
through — "  his  voice  faltered  slightly  — "  through 
others." 

"  Ah?  "  The  "  Hornet  "  evidently  comprehended. 
"  But  it's  only  threats,  son;  just  threats.  She  realizes 
that  you  have  slipped  through  her  ringers  for  good  and 
all,  and  she'd  say  anything  that  she  thought  would 
enable  her  to  get  back  at  you.  They  usually  become 
tearful  and  abusive  at  that  stage  of  the  game.  The 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  231 

lady's  training  alone,  not  her  inclination,  prevented 
her  from  driving  her  nails  into  your  face." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so,"  Colvin  answered.  "  My 
reason  tells  me  you  are  probably  right,  and  that  is  all 
there  is  to  it,  but —  The  long  and  short  of  it  is  that 
I've  lost  my  nerve." 

"  I  can  tell  you  how  to  get  it  back,  neatly  spiking 
her  guns,  and  insuring  full  protection  for  the  person 
you  are  chiefly  concerned  about,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"  How  ?  "  demanded  Colvin  skeptically. 

"  Why,  by  simply  marrying  the  girl,"  returned  the 
"  Hornet."  "  Wouldn't  that  accomplish  all  I  say  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  The  "  Hornet  "  waited  until 
a  full  minute  had  gone  by,  then  ventured  a  tentative 
"  Hello !  "  but  only  as  he  spoke  heard  the  receiver  at 
the  other  end  of  the  wire  hung  up.  So,  with  a  chuckle, 
he  turned  back  to  his  work. 

But  his  words  had  not  fallen  upon  barren  ground. 
Twenty  minutes  later,  Colvin,  after  much  hurried  pac- 
ing of  the  floor,  turned  to  the  telephone  again,  and  call- 
ing up  the  Whitefield  house,  asked  for  Miss  Fletcher 
on  the  bare  chance  that  he  would  find  her  in.  He  was 
fortunate.  In  a  moment  she  herself  was  answering 
him. 

"  Will  you  give  me  ten  minutes  of  your  time  within 
the  next  hour  ?  "  he  asked,  throwing  caution  to  the 
winds.  Then,  as  she  hesitated,  he  added :  "  It  really 
is  important.  Please  say  you  will."  His  tone  was 
deeply  serious. 

"  I  was  just  about  to  start  for  a  walk  in  the  Park, 
when  you  called,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  will  let  me  join  you  there,  will  you  not? 
I'll  jump  into  a  cab,  and  come  up  at  once,  if  you'll 
tell  me  where  I  shall  be  most  apt  to  find  you," 


232  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  I  shall  be  sauntering  about  in  one  of 
the  paths  near  the  Seventy-second  Street  entrance." 

"  Good,"  he  returned.  "  I'll  be  there  almost  as  soon 
as  yourself." 

It  was  now  five  o'clock,  and  the  dusk  had  already 
fallen.  The  light  had  gone  from  the  sky ;  it  seemed  to 
brood,  all  smoky  depths,  just  above  the  treetops. 
There  was  no  breeze,  but  although  the  air  was  still,  it 
held  the  blood-stirring,  autumn  tingle. 

Muriel  had  not  reached  the  Mall  when  Colvin,  true 
to  his  promise  of  arriving  almost  as  soon  as  she  did, 
overtook  her.  She  evidently  recognized  his  step,  for 
she  smiled  over  her  shoulder  at  him. 

"  Dear  me !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  looked  up  into 
his  face.  "  It  must  be  something  tremendously  impor- 
tant. Even  our  familiar  shadows  seem  shocked  at  the 
audacity  you  are  showing."  She  glanced  back  at  the 
two  detectives  loitering  in  the  distance. 

"  But  really,"  her  tone  changed,  as  she  noticed  that 
he  did  not  smile  at  her  flippancy,  "  has  anything  an- 
noying happened?  I  know,  you  see,  that  when  you 
bother,  it  must  be  something  worth  bothering  about." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  I  am  both- 
ering about  the  only  thing  in  the  whole  world  worth 
bothering  over  —  and  that  is  you." 

"  Me  ?  "  she  cried,  glancing  up  at  him  in  surprise. 
They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  Mall,  and  turned  now 
into  one  of  the  narrower  paths.  The  twilight  was 
deepening.  Only  an  occasional  passer-by  noticed  them, 
and  then  went  on,  indifferent  and  preoccupied.  The 
trailing  detectives  hovered  a  decorous  distance  to  the 
rear.  In  her  dark  walking  dress  and  furs,  and  against 
the  dull  and  dim  background,  Muriel's  face  gleamed 
vivid  and  warmly-tinted  as  an  hibiscus  flower. 


.:.-•<*'" 


Her  glance  was  full  of  a  quizzical  mockery.     Page  233. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  233 

As  Colvin  gazed  at  her,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
whole  scene  symbolized  in  a  way  what  life  now  meant 
to  him.  An  illusory,  vaporous  world  with  neither  dis- 
tinct outlines  nor  meanings,  static,  with  all  its  vibrating, 
effulgent  force  centered  in  this  girl.  And  she  was 
menaced  by  an  evil  power  —  weak,  mean,  but  still  a 
power.  The  sudden  clutch  of  fear  at  his  heart  stag- 
gered him.  He  had  known  that  he  loved  her,  but  not 
like  this. 

"  Muriel,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  will  you  marry  me  ? 
I  mean  to-day,  at  once,  as  soon  as  I  arrange  for  a 
license  and  a  clergyman." 

She  stopped  in  the  path,  and  looked  at  him.  For  a 
second  her  glance  was  full  of  a  quizzical  mockery,  and 
then  the  earnestness,  the  solemnity  almost,  of  his  ex- 
pression sobered  her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  Something  has 
happened.  Last  night  you  positively  refused  to  marry 
me,  and  now  this  afternoon  you  take  my  breath  away 
by  asking  me  to  do  so  at  once.  I  thought  it  was  only 
we  women  who  had  the  privilege  of  changing  our  minds 
rapidly  in  such  matters." 

"  Oh,  don't,"  he  said  with  an  impatient  movement  of 
the  hand,  "  don't  begin  to  jest  and  fence  with  me  now. 
Last  night,  considering  the  position  in  which  I  stand  to 
the  world,  and  solely  for  your  own  sake,  I  felt  that 
all  the  decency,  all  the  manhood  in  me  required  me  to 
refuse  to  let  you  sacrifice  yourself  for  what  might  be 
only  a  girlish  impulse.  But  circumstances,  events  which 
occurred  after  I  talked  to  you,  have  changed  my  point 
of  view.  Oh!  "  he  swept  off  his  hat  with  a  large,  irri- 
tated movement,  and  ruffled  his  hand  over  his  fore- 
head. "  What  is  the  use  of  going  into  all  sorts  of 
futile  explanations?  "  His  eyes  had  never  been  harder 


234  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

to  withstand,  his  smile  was  never  more  persuasive. 
"  Won't  you,  can't  you  love  me  enough  to  marry  me 
now?" 

"But  it  was  only  last  night — " 

"  Don't,"  he  repeated.  "  The  immediate  question 
is—" 

"  The  immediate  question  with  me,"  she  interrupted 
him  in  turn,  "  is  that  you  refused  to  marry  me  last 
night,  and  now,  not  twenty-four  hours  later,  are  urging 
me  to  do  so.  And  your  only  explanation  is  a  vague 
hint  of  circumstances  which  have  risen.  Don't  you 
think  I  have  a  right  to  know  what  these  circumstances 
which  have  occasioned  such  a  startling  change  of  heart, 
may  be  ?  " 

With  her  natural  directness,  she  had  asked  just  that 
one  question  which  he  had  hoped  she  would  not. 

"  Please  be  content  to  let  that  rest  for  the  present," 
he  begged.  "  If  I  promise  to  tell  you  at  some  future 
day,  won't  that  do?  Take  my  assurance  that  I  am 
doing  the  wisest  thing  for  us  both,  and  let  your  femi- 
nine curiosity  go  by  the  board  for  once." 

"  No,"  she  said,  and  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart  he 
saw  her  mouth  shut  in  a  close  line.  Her  eyes,  as  she 
lifted  them  to  his,  were  opened  more  widely  than  usual, 
and  full  of  a  laughing  fire,  but  the  laughter  was  only  of 
the  surface. 

"  No,"  she  repeated ;  "  anything  I  do,  especially  any- 
thing so  momentous  as  getting  married,  I  do  with  my 
eyes  open.  And  I  know  that  something  of  the  utmost 
importance  must  have  occurred  to  cause  your  — " 

"If  you  say,  '  change  of  heart '  again,"  he  brought 
his  face  down  close  to  hers,  his  eyes  as  determined  as 
her  own,  "  I'll  either  slap  you  or  kiss  you,  I  don't 
know  which." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  235 

She  laughed.     "  But  the  circumstances  ?  " 

He  drew  an  exasperated  sigh  through  his  teeth. 

"  You're  driving  me  to  become  a  cave  man.  I  don't 
want  to  argue.  I  want  you  to  marry  me.  I'll  carry 
you  off  in  about  ten  minutes." 

Her  laughter  rang  out  louder.  "  You'd  have  a  fine 
time,  playing  cave  man  here  in  the  Mall  with  a  remark- 
ably husky  young  woman,  and  our  '  shadows  '  dodging 
back  there  just  around  the  bend.  Come;  tell  me  the 
worst." 

His  patience  was  at  an  end.     He  capitulated. 

"  Muriel,  you  must  believe  me.  There  are  certain 
dangers  which  threaten  you.  They  are  intangible,  but 
only  the  more  terrifying  on  that  account.  You  need 
some  one  to  protect  and  defend  you.  Oh,  my  dearest, 
listen  to  reason,  listen  to  me." 

"  Dangers  ? "  She  considered  that  a  moment. 
"  Threatening  me  ?  Absurd.  Let  me  relieve  your 
mind,  Mr.  Vernon.  I  am  sure  that  I'm  in  no  such 
need  of  protection  that  you  must  sacrifice  yourself  to 
the  extent  of  marrying  me.  Of  course,  Uncle  William 
would  be  delighted  if  I  were  smashed  up  in  a  nice 
accident,  or  something  like  that,  but  he'd  never  attempt 
to  bring  it  about.  Oh,  I  know,"  with  a  sudden  illumi- 
nation, "  it's  Freda  who  has  been  frightening  you. 
She's  probably  been  trying  to  make  you  believe 
that  she's  got  a  convenient  Apache  in  the  background 
who  wouldn't  hesitate  at  a  word  from  her  to  garrote 
me,  or  put  poison  in  my  food.  That's  her  idea  of 
drama.  Bah!  She's  the  last  person  that  I'm  afraid 
of.  Truly,  Mr.  Vernon,  I'm  as  safe  in  that  house  as  I 
would  be  in  a  church.  Don't  get  any  foolish,  excited 
ideas  about  me." 

He  walked  on  beside  her,  his  head  bent.     Probably 


236  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

she  was  right,  and  he  had  been  morbid  and  fanciful; 
but  even  so,  he  was  not  able  to  shake  off  the  forebod- 
ings which  Freda's  words  had  aroused  in  him  the  night 
before.  The  tone,  the  manner  in  which  she  had  made 
her  threats,  still  haunted  him.  Her  hatred  of  Muriel 
was  genuine,  and  behind  it  was  that  obstinacy  which  is 
the  strength  of  the  weak.  But  even  more  than  all  that, 
more  than  his  impulse  to  save  Muriel  from  possible  or 
probable  dangers,  was  the  ardent  longing  to  make  her 
his  own. 

Muriel,  for  her  part,  was  a  thoroughly  modern  young 
woman  with  the  ideas  and  tendencies  of  her  generation 
considerably  strengthened  by  her  naturally  unfettered 
outlook  on  life.  But  even  so,  she  could  not  abrogate 
all  the  traditions  of  her  sex,  and  she  did  not  forget 
that  she  had  offered  herself  to  this  man  the  night  be- 
fore, and  had  been  refused.  It  did  not  at  all  appeal  to 
her  that  he  had  acted  from  the  most  disinterested  mo- 
tives, or  that  he  had  exercised  an  almost  superhuman 
self-control  in  his  resolution  to  abide  by  what  was  best 
for  her,  regardless  of  the  suffering  to  his  own  heart. 

She  judged  him  by  every  standard  of  the  feminine 
view  of  love,  and  found  him  \vanting.  If  she  cared 
enough  for  him  to  offer  herself  in  marriage,  then  his 
love  didn't  match  hers,  or  in  the  torrent  of  feeling 
which  her  words  should  have  evoked,  all  doubts,  scru- 
ples, questions  of  any  kind,  whether  fine  or  ignoble, 
should  have  been  swept  away. 

She  considered  it  an  almost  unforgivable  affront  that 
during  such  moments  his  reason  had  not  only  held  its 
sway,  but  had  asserted  itself  and  maintained  its  do- 
minion. It  was  impossible  for  her  to  understand  that 
his  renunciation  had  been  the  hardest  thing  he  had  ever 
done  in  his  life. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  237 

It  was  the  difference  between  the  man's  and  the 
woman's  point  of  view.  Hers :  If  he  is  to  convince 
me  that  he  really  cares,  it  must  be  "  all  for  love  and  the 
world  well  lost."  His :  "  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear, 
so  much  loved  I  not  honor  more."  They  might  argue 
and  explain  forever,  and  not  cast  even  a  straw  across 
that  gulf  of  opposite  viewpoints. 

And  now  for  him  to  come  to  her  thus,  for  her  to  see 
fear  accomplish  what  she  and  her  love  could  not  do, 
was  unbearable.  It  made  no  difference  that  it  was  fear 
for  her  and  not  for  himself.  She  felt  that  she  would 
rather  die  than  let  him  see  how  she  suffered,  and  yet  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  she  kept  back  her  tears. 

He  divined  something  of  her  thought,  but  what  could 
he  say?  If  it  had  all  to  be  gone  over  again,  he  could 
not  have  altered  his  attitude,  nor  taken  a  different  one. 

A  Scotch  mist  had  begun  to  fall,  blurring  still  more 
the  now  almost  indistinguishable  features  of  the  land- 
scape. To  Colvin  it  seemed  as  if  the  fog  which  had 
permeated  Freda's  room  the  night  before  encompassed 
him  more  densely  than  ever.  It  had  spread  until  it 
dimmed  the  sunshine  in  which,  to  his  fancy,  Muriel 
always  stood,  and  blotted  out  his  vision  of  the  future. 
From  that  dark,  doubting  world  of  shadow,  in  which  he 
had  lived  so  long,  it  stretched  cold,  vaporous  fingers 
whose  touch  chilled  his  heart.  He  struggled  against  it. 

"  I've  loved  you  with  every  hope  of  the  future,  every 
beautiful  dream  of  the  past,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  I've 
loved  you  as  I  never  dreamed  I  could  love  a  human 
being,  with  a  passion,  a  strength,  a  tenderness  I  didn't 
know  it  was  in  me  to  feel.  And  you  loved  me  last 
night."  He  bent  his  head,  his  words  coming  quickly, 
ardently.  "  You  can't  change  so  quickly,  you  can't. 
Muriel,  you're  judging  me  from  the  standpoint  of  the 


238  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

traditional  woman,  and  that  is  not  worthy  of  you. 
You're  too  big,  too  fine,  too  splendid  for  that.  You 
are  perfectly  capable  of  forming  your  own  opinions 
and  setting  up  your  own  standards.  It  is  your  nature 
to  do  so.  We  can  travesty  anything.  Of  course  it 
seems  to  put  me  in  a  ridiculous  light  to  say  that  I  re- 
fused to  marry  you  last  night,  and  am  begging  you  to 
marry  me  to-day.  I  am  quite  indifferent  to  that;  all 
that  I  care  for  is  you.  Last  night  I  had  nothing  to 
offer  you.  To-day,  I  can  give  you  defense  and  pro- 
tection. Oh,  Muriel,  listen  to  me !  " 

She  longed  to  throw  herself  in  his  arms,  but  her 
wilful  spirit  restrained  her.  She  was  raw  and  sore. 
Her  pride  had  upheld  her  last  night  and  through  the 
greater  part  of  to-day,  but  it  was  almost  gone  now, 
worn  too  thin  to  trust. 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  any  more,"  she  said.  "  I 
can't  feel  differently." 

They  had  reached  the  Seventy-second  Street  en- 
trance, and  they  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence, 
and  without  any  further  words  parted  at  the  Whitefield 
door. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHATEVER  virtues  Hazel  Phillips  may  have  lacked, 
punctuality  was  not  one  of  them.  Having  made  an 
appointment  to  meet  Mr.  Whitefield  in  person  —  she 
would  negotiate  with  no  one  else  —  she  was  at  his  of- 
fice at  half -past  eleven  o'clock,  precisely  to  the  minute. 

Whitefield,  when  her  name  was  brought  in,  glanced 
at  the  clock  in  surprise ;  ladies  of  the  class  to  which  he 
had  mentally  assigned  his  visitor  were  not  usually  so 
prompt. 

He  nodded,  however,  as  an  indication  to  the  messen- 
ger that  she  was  to  be  admitted,  pushed  aside  some 
papers  upon  which  he  was  engaged,  and  swung  about 
in  his  swivel  chair. 

When  Miss  Phillips  entered  a  moment  later,  his  eyes, 
piercingly  keen  and  intent  under  their  bushy  brows, 
subjected  her  to  a  brief  but  comprehensive  analysis 
which  left  no  detail  of  her  appearance  or  characteristics 
unnoted.  Again  he  felt  a  touch  of  surprise,  this  time 
not  unmixed  with  gratification.  He  shifted  his  gaze 
slightly,  and  settled  back  in  his  chair. 

He  had,  indeed,  very  much  the  same  feeling  of  relief 
and  relaxation  that  the  wolf  must  have  experienced  at 
the  trusting  approach  of  Little  Red  Riding  Hood. 
This  was  so  restfully  easy. 

And,  to  tell  the  truth,  nothing  could  have  looked  less 
formidable  than  Miss  Phillips.  She  was  so  obviously 
young,  and  simple,  and  plain.  As  he  looked  at  her, 
Whitefield  felt  the  necessity  of  readjusting  his  mental 
focus.  He  had  had  in  mind  a  picture  gallery  of  ac- 


240  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

cepted  types,  and  was  confidently  expecting  one  or  the 
other  of  them  to  appear.  The  motherly  old  soul,  per- 
haps, thoroughly  up  in  every  trick  of  the  extortioner's 
trade,  or  the  young  and  innocent  Broadway  "  chicken  " 
with  her  profound  sophistications,  or  the  attractive 
young  woman  of  about  thirty  with  the  hard  mouth  and 
crook  eyes.  But  this  girl  —  Why,  it  would  be  like 
dealing  with  a  child. 

After  she  had  responded  to  his  "  Good  morning," 
and  had  unhesitatingly  taken  the  chair  he  indicated,  so 
placed  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  her  face,  she  said  no 
more,  but  left  the  next  word  to  him. 

"Well,  Miss  Phillips,"  he  began,  his  usual  bluff, 
quick  manner  of  speech  modified  to  a  firm,  businesslike 
tone,  "  you  are  here,  as  I  understand,  to  give  me  some 
information  regarding  a  package  of  papers  which  was 
stolen  from  my  safe?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  the  Colvin  papers." 

Her  directness  slightly  disconcerted  him.  Then  he 
smiled  upon  her  encouragingly,  paternally.  His  man- 
ner seemed  to  say :  "  Have  confidence,  little  girl.  In  me 
you  will  find  a  true  friend." 

"  And  you  have  those  papers  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  again. 

"  Absolutely  in  your  own  possession,  I  hope  ?  You 
see,  I  want  you  to  be  in  a  position  to  claim  the  entire 
reward." 

"  They  are  in  my  own  possession." 

"  You  have  brought  them  with  you,  eh  ?  "  In  spite 
of  himself,  the  quick  gleam  in  his  eye  betrayed  his 
consuming  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  no."  She  appeared  surprised  that  he  should 
have  expected  that.  "  We  have  our  terms  to  make 
first,  you  know,  Mr.  Whitefield." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  241 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  bent  another  long, 
keen  look  on  her.  She  bore  the  scrutiny  without  any 
trace  of  self-consciousness. 

"  Our  terms?  "  he  repeated.  "  The  terms  were  fully 
stated  in  my  advertisement,  five  thousand  dollars  for 
the  return  of  the  papers.  Some  one  may  have  ad- 
vised you,  of  course,  that  I  am  a  very  rich  man,  and 
that  you  can  get  more;  so  we  may  as  well  settle  that 
question  once  and  for  all.  Understand,  if  you  please, 
that  those  papers  are  absolutely  without  value  to  any 
one  except  myself,  worth  at  the  most  the  few  cents 
which  a  rag-man  might  give  for  them.  But  since  I 
attach  a  certain  personal  importance  to  them,  I  was 
willing  to  pay  for  their  recovery,  and  have  named  five 
thousand  dollars  as  the  amount.  An  absurd  sum  under 
the  circumstances.  But  I  offered  it;  and  what  I've 
offered,  I'll  stand  by." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Five  thousand  dollars  doesn't 
interest  me,  Mr.  Whitefield." 

By  a  determined  exercise  of  will  he  smoothed  away 
the  scowl  which  was  gathering  about  his  eyes.  His 
visitor  presented  more  of  a  puzzle  than  he  had  thought. 
What  was  her  game?  Finally  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  she  must  be  merely  the  mouthpiece,  the 
errand  girl  in  this  case,  behind  her  some  shrewd  and 
crafty  principal  of  the  underworld,  or  possibly  a  gang. 

"  Then  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  he  spoke 
crisply,  with  a  decisively  final  emphasis  on  his  words. 
"  You  can  tell  the  people  back  of  you  that  I  refuse  to  be 
held  up.  They  can't  sell  those  papers ;  there's  no 
other  market  for  them.  And  they  can't  hold  them  over 
my  head  as  a  club,  either.  Let  'em  try  it,  and  see 
where  they  land." 

"  Mr.  Whitefield,"  her  voice  was  clear  and  quite 


242  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

self-possessed,  "  it  will  simplify  things,  I  fancy,  if  you 
will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  have  no  advisers  in 
this  thing,  no  backers,  and  no  associates,  but  am  acting 
entirely  on  my  own.  I  don't  have  to  consult  with  any 
one,  or  report  to  any  one.  You  and  I  can  settle  mat- 
ters between  us  right  here  and  now." 

"  Nothing  to  settle."  He  shut  his  mouth,  and  nod- 
ded definitely  at  her  once  or  twice.  "  You  either  ac- 
cept my  offer,  or  you  don't.  In  any  case,  I've  very 
little  time  to  give  you ;  plenty  of  more  important  mat- 
ters awaiting  my  attention.  So  you  can  either  take 
the  five  thousand  dollars,  or  leave  it;  but  you'll  have 
to  decide  which  pretty  quickly.  And,  if  there  are  any 
more  hints  at  blackmail,  I'll  send  for  an  officer,  and 
have  you  arrested." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  then  burst  out  laughing  as 
she  shook  her  head. 

"  Thank  you  for  stating  your  position  so  clearly," 
she  said.  "  I  hope  I  can  make  mine  as  plain.  I  have 
no  desire  to  blackmail  you,  Mr.  Whitefield ;  I  am  sim- 
ply trying  to  get  the  best  price  for  what  I  have  to  sell. 
And,  in  spite  of  your  denials  and  explanations,  I  can't 
help  believing  that  there  are  others  as  anxious  to  se- 
cure those  papers  as  yourself.  As  you  say,  five  thou- 
sand dollars  is  an  absurd  amount  —  absurdly  large  as  a 
reward,  absurdly  small  as  a  bid.  Those  papers  must 
be  of  equal  or  greater  value  to  some  one  else,  or  they 
would  never  be  worth  so  much  to  you." 

"  Not  necessarily  so,"  he  interrupted  quickly. 

"  But  I  am  acting  on  the  assumption  that  it  is,"  she 
parried.  "  When  I  say,  therefore,  that  five  thousand 
dollars  doesn't  interest  me,  it  is  because  I  believe  that 
the  papers  are  worth  more  than  that  to  you,  and  that 
you  will  pay  more." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  243 

"  Never."  Whitefield  ran  his  scales  on  his  desk 
very  slowly,  and  with  deliberate  exactness.  He  won- 
dered if  it  would  be  worth  while  to  threaten  her,  then 
decided  against  it;  his  one  attempt  in  that  direction 
had  not  been  particularly  fruitful.  Half-involuntarily 
his  glance  turned  to  the  pigeonhole  in  front  of  him 
where  lay  the  report  his  detectives  had  gathered  in 
regard  to  Miss  Phillips ;  innocuous,  colorless,  but  doubt- 
ful, yet  there  was  nothing  in  it  to  give  him  any  handle 
or  hold  over  her. 

"  How  much  does  the  other  side  offer  ? "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

Again  she  laughed,  her  candid,  gray  eyes  full  of 
amusement.  He  understood  that  she  did  not  intend  to 
answer  him. 

"  You  won't  admit  that  you  are  dickering  with  the 
other  side?  Well,  as  I  told  you,  I'm  a  busy  man. 
Very  little  time  to  waste.  Suppose,  just  to  get  at 
some  tangible  basis,  you  tell  me  exactly  what  you  do 
want?" 

Her  face  became  serious,  but  her  voice  still  held  its 
note  of  raillery. 

"  You  are  so  kind,"  she  didn't  attempt  to  disguise 
the  mockery  of  this,  "  that  I  have  an  impulse  to  confide 
in  you.  Your  sympathetic  manner  emboldens  me." 

Whitefield  was  not  only  shrewd,  but  he  was  more  or 
less  intuitive  —  intuitive  not  only  as  regarded  persons, 
but  circumstances,  as  well  —  and  he  had  the  courage  to 
trust  these  intuitions  and  follow  them.  A  large  part  of 
his  success  was  due  to  that  ability  of  his  to  catch  the 
trend,  the  feeling  of  the  moment,  and  utilize  it. 

Again  he  gave  Hazel  his  careful  study.  What  was 
she  up  to?  She  certainly  had  not  attempted  the  pa- 
thetic role,  neither  had  she  tried  to  play  the  siren.  Her 


244  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

attractions,  although  she  possessed  them,  were  not  ob- 
vious, and  —  he  noted  with  another  comprehensive 
look  —  she  minimized,  rather  than  emphasized  them. 

That  inconspicuous  blue  serge,  well-worn,  though 
not  exactly  shabby,  was  hardly  the  uniform  of  a  vam- 
pire, nor  that  black  velvet  tarn  on  her  pale  hair,  nor  the 
plain,  blue  shirtwaist  buttoned  up  to  the  throat.  No 
ornaments.  The  only  touch  of  coquetry  lay  in  the 
thin  silk  stockings,  the  smart  little  shoes. 

The  result,  however,  was  so  attractive,  so  appeal- 
ingly  fresh  and  ingenuous,  that  Whitefield  wondered  if 
it  were  not  the  same  old  siren  in  a  more  effective  and 
piquant  masquerade.  The  demureness  of  Priscilla  is 
sometimes  the  most  subtle  form  of  coquetry. 

There  was,  though,  according  to  his  experience,  one 
way  that  you  could  always  find  out  what  you  wished 
to  know  —  by  getting  them  to  talk  about  themselves. 
That  absorbing  topic  was  a  certain  avenue  to  self -reve- 
lation. 

"  I  hope  you  are  in  earnest,"  he  nodded  at  her  with 
one  of  his  more  amiable  expressions.  "  It  would  per- 
haps be  a  very  wise  thing  for  you  to  confide  in  me. 
You  are  a  bright  girl,  and,  I  should  say,  an  ambitious 
one,  and  with  my  experience  and  knowledge  of  the 
world,  I  might  be  able  to  advise  and  help  you.  Tell 
me  something  about  yourself.  Have  you  any  business 
or  profession?  " 

"  The  business  of  making  a  living,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes ;  most  of  Us  have  that.  But  in  what  especial 
way?" 

Her  nose  crinkled  slightly,  her  whole  face  was  irrad- 
iated with  the  smile  of  a  naughty  child. 

"  I  live  by  my  wits,"  she  said.  "  It  is  very  stimu- 
lating. It  develops  one's  faculties  enormously." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  245 

Whitefield  found  himself  immensely  diverted. 
"So?"  he  laughed;  then  matching  her  frankness  of 
speech  with  his  own:  "  What  sort  of  a  crook  are  you? 
Shoplifter,  pickpocket,  confidence  woman,  or  black- 
mailer? " 

He  was  suddenly  aware  that  all  this  outer  semblance 
of  hers,  the  simplicity  of  manner,  the  inconspicuous 
appearance,  was  deceptive.  Her  individuality  was  so 
strong  and  vivid  that  she  masked  it  for  her  own  pur- 
poses. And,  as  she  answered  his  question,  he  realized 
that  he  had  been  guilty  of  stupidity.  He  should  have 
understood  that  she  was  a  personage  in  her  own  world, 
whatever  that  world  was. 

She  swept  aside  his  "  shoplifter,  pickpocket,  black- 
mailer "  with  a  distasteful  movement  of  the  hand. 

"  I  am  a  crook,  if  you  will,  but  none  of  those  other 
contemptible  things.  To  apply  them  to  me  is  like  ask- 
ing you  if  you  keep  a  peanut  stand,  or  cry,  '  OP  clo' ! ' 
along  the  street,  or  trundle  a  pushcart.  I  am  some- 
thing of  an  expert,  you  must  understand,  something  of 
a  specialist.  I  plan  things,  and  negotiate  big  deals 
like  this  with  persons  who  are  worth  while,  like  your- 
self." 

"  Just  so,"  he  smiled  wryly,  "  Birds  that  are  worth 
the  plucking  —  like  me.  But  go  on.  You  were  about 
to  tell  me  your  story." 

"  No,"  she  shook  her  head.  "  There's  no  reason 
why  I  should  gratify  the  impertinent  curiosity  of  you 
or  any  one  else  on  that  score.  But,"  and  now  she 
smiled  with  a  winning  candor,  "  I  would  like  to  tell 
you  my  ambitions." 

Whitefield  nodded,  and  settled  himself  to  listen. 
Now,  he  felt  sure  he  would  get  a  line  on  her,  as  he 
phrased  it  to  himself,  would  be  able  to  discover  her 


246  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

weak  spots,   and  decide  how  best  to  cope  with  her. 

"  I  am  fairly  well  educated  as  those  things  go,"  she 
began  her  revelation ;  "  books,  facts,  and  all  that.  But 
I'm  a  lot  better  educated  in  life  and  human  nature. 
I'm  quick,  mentally  and  physically,  too ;  I'd  never  have 
gotten  where  I  am,  if  I  wasn't.  But  I'm  ambitious  — 
Oh,  very  ambitious.  I  don't  want  to  continue  a  crook. 
It  would  be  no  satisfaction  to  me,  for  instance,  to  black- 
mail you  out  of  five  or  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  then 
sit  down  in  stupid,  unthinking  luxury,  until  the  money 
was  all  spent,  and  I  would  have  to  look  around  for  a 
new  victim.  No;  that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  interest  me 
any  more  than  your  picayune  reward  does.  I've  got 
to  have  an  interest,  an  occupation,  an  aim  in  life;  and 
in  my  efforts  to  rise  in  the  world,  I  need  the  advice  of 
a  man  like  you  who  juggles  millions,  who  thinks  in  the 
large.  I  want  to  be  able  to  come  and  consult  with  you, 
to  talk  over  my  plans,  and  have  you  counsel  and  direct 
me.  As  a  consideration  for  that  direction  and  advice, 
I  will  let  you  have  the  Colvin  papers  for  fifty  thousand 
dollars  cash.  Without  the  advice,  my  price  is  one  hun~ 
dred  thousand." 

Whitefield  rested  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair, 
and  leaned  forward,  as  if  to  get  a  better  look  at  her. 

"  My  dear  young  woman,"  he  said,  "  have  you  just 
escaped  from  a  lunatic  asylum  ?  " 

"  That's  immaterial,  isn't  it,"  she  retorted,  with  her 
irresistible  laugh ;  "  so  long  as  I  have  the  papers,  and 
hold  them  at  a  certain  figure." 

He  capitulated.  In  his  intense  relief  at  the  prospect 
of  getting  those  damning  papers  back  in  his  own  hands, 
he  was  disinclined  to  haggle,  even  though  her  demands 
had  been  twice  as  exorbitant  as  they  were.  Anyhow, 
he  told  himself,  it  was  worth  something  merely  to  have 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  247 

met  and  talked  with  the  oddly  original  Miss  Phillips. 
Her  idea  of  throwing  off  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  re- 
turn for  his  consent  to  act  as  her  guide,  philosopher, 
and  friend,  struck  him  as  intensely  amusing.  Not  in 
years  had  anything  so  tickled  his  sense  of  humor  as 
the  mingled  naivete  and  audacity  of  her  proposal. 

He  swung  around  to  his  desk,  took  out  his  private 
checkbook,  began  to  write  in  it,  and  then  paused  with 
his  pen  poised.  He  had  intended  to  fill  out  a  check  for 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  as  an  evidence  to  her 
that  the  money  would  be  forthcoming  on  the  delivery  of 
the  papers.  But  a  sudden  thought  came  to  him. 

"  Suppose,"  he  questioned  her,  "  I  should  accept  this 
proposal  of  yours,  and  agree  to  give  you  my  advice  and 
direction,  what  is  your  idea?  How,  for  instance, 
would  you  employ  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  I  am  to 
pay  you?  Go  down,  and  try  to  clean  up  the  Street, 
eh  ?  Expect  to  make  a  killing  on  the  tips  that  I  could 
give  you  ?  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  be  your  pupil,"  she  said  with  charming 
deference.  "  I  believe  I  have  business  ability,  and  I 
want  to  prove  it  —  to  prove  that  I  am  not  merely  a 
clever  crook,  but  can  stand  for  something  and  be  worth 
while  in  the  decent  world,  as  well.  Believe  me,  I  will 
not  be  a  bother  or  nuisance  to  you,  Mr.  Whitefield. 
On  the  contrary,  I'm  willing  to  bet  that  you  will  find 
me  a  help." 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  cried.  "  I'll  take  a  chance  on  you. 
Let's  settle  the  business  in  hand  first,  though.  When 
and  where  do  I  get  those  papers  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  True  to  her  promise,  she 
had  communicated  with  the  "  Hornet "  that  morning, 
telling  him  of  her  appointment  with  Whitefield,  and  in 
return  had  received  his  instructions.  She  believed  that 


248  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

she  had  fathomed  the  purpose  back  of  those  instruc- 
tions, and  she  was  questioning  now  whether  it  lay  more 
to  her  advantage  to  follow  or  disregard  them. 

The  "  Hornet "  was  hardly  a  safe  person  to  antago- 
nize or  trick.  Invariably  playing  straight  himself,  the 
"  double  cross  "  was  in  his  category  the  one  unpardon- 
able sin.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  Whitefield  would  be 
as  quick  to  detect  and  resent  any  .evidence  of  crooked 
dealing,  and  her  destiny  now  seemed  bound  up  with 
his. 

In  the  end,  she  decided  to  abide  by  her  agreement 
with  the  "  Hornet "  for  the  present,  ready  to  throw 
him  over,  however,  at  any  moment  it  seemed  advisable 
to  do  so,  and  trusting  to  her  cleverness  to  extricate  her- 
self from  any  difficulties  which  might  arise.  She 
would  at  least  have  that  big,  white  diamond  he  had 
shown  her.  That  was  perhaps  the  determining  factor 
in  her  calculations. 

"  I  won't  be  able  to  get  the  package  to  you  before 
this  evening,"  she  told  Whitefield.  "  And  it  will  be  a 
little  late  at  that.  Let  me  see;  you'll  probably  be  at 
home  after  six,  won't  you  ?  Suppose,  then,  I  agree  to 
be  at  your  house  with  the  papers  at  exactly  half -past 
six  o'clock?  " 

He  expressed  some  dissatisfaction  at  this  arrange- 
ment ;  but  she  insisted  that  it  was  the  best  she  could  do. 
So,  rather  than  let  the  matter  go  over  to  another  day, 
he  assented. 

That  settled,  he  finished  making  out  the  check  he  had 
started  to  write,  filling  in  the  amount  for  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  and  with  the  promise  that  he  would  have  it 
cashed  and  ready  for  her  upon  the  delivery  of  the  pa- 
pers, held  it  out  for  her  inspection. 

"  Quite  a  sum  of  money  all  at  once,  young  lady,"  he 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  249 

said.     "  Ever  have  that  much  in  your  hands  before?  " 

"  No,"  she  admitted.  Her  face  had  gone  a  little 
pale  as  she  gazed  at  the  check.  She  drew  in  her  breath, 
and  exhaled  it  in  a  rapturous  sigh.  Then  she  crinkled 
her  nose  again.  "  Pooh !  "  she  cried.  "  I  don't  ex- 
pect fifty  thousand  to  be  more  than  cab  fare  to  me  in 
the  future.  We  are  going  to  do  big  things  together, 
Mr.  Whitefield.  I  can  help  you  in  ways  that  you  don't 
dream." 

She  rose  as  if  to  terminate  the  interview,  but  he  lifted 
a  detaining  hand. 

"  Wait,"  he  said.  "  That's  the  second  time  you  have 
boasted  that  you  could  be  of  assistance  to  me.  Sup- 
pose I  give  you  a  chance  to  prove  your  words." 

She  seated  herself  again.  "  What  do  you  mean?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Well,  you  know  of  course  where  those  papers  came 
from,  that  they  were  stolen  from  my  safe,  and  you 
also  know,  no  doubt,  the  person  who  took  them." 

A  gleam  of  suspicion  flashed  in  her  eye,  her  voice 
grew  hard.     "  There  were  to  be  '  no  questions  asked,' ' 
she  reminded  him.     "  I'm  not  incriminating  myself, 
thank  you." 

For  answer  he  arose  and  stepping  to  the  door  of  a 
closet  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  opened  it  to 
disclose  a  rather  embarrassed  stenographer. 

"  You  may  come  out,  Bates,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  not 
need  you  further.  And  let  me  have  your  notes,  please." 

He  took  the  book,  as  the  stenographer  hurried  out  of 
the  office,  and  walking  over  to  the  waste-basket,  tore 
the  record  into  fragments. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  you  may  speak  as  freely  as  you 
choose." 

"  I'm  afraid  ycu  are  in  for  a  disappointment,"  Hazel 


250  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

laughed,  and  there  could  be  no  question  of  her  abso- 
lute sincerity ;  "  for  honestly,  I  don't  know  a  thing  that 
would  help  you.  I  have  my  suspicions  of  course  — 
maybe,  something  more  than  a  suspicion  —  but  noth- 
ing that  would  serve  as  legal  evidence. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained,  "  I  came  into  the  case 
after  everything  was  all  over.  A  woman  with  whom 
the  papers  had  been  left  talked  too  much.  I  had  hap- 
pened to  see  your  advertisement,  and  by  putting  two 
and  two  together,  decided  that  it  was  the  package  you 
were  after.  I  knew  who  you  were,  and  fancied  that 
I  could  do  a  stroke  of  business,  so  by  a  bit  of  finesse 
I  got  hold  of  the  papers.  The  woman  who  had  them 
didn't  have  an  idea  of  their  real  character,  and  the 
person  who  left  them  with  her  —  a  mere  go-between  at 
the  best  —  is  out  of  the  country.  So  that  lead  is  ab- 
solutely blocked." 

Whitefield  frowned,  and  drummed  upon  the  arms  of 
his  chair.  "  Still  you  know  who  did  the  job,"  he  per- 
sisted, "  or  can  make  a  pretty  close  guess  at  it.  The 
police  have  utterly  failed  in  the  case,  bungled  it  from 
start  to  finish,  but  it  strikes  me  that  a  bright  girl  like 
you,  by  a  little  investigation,  and  with  the  sources  of 
information  which  you  possess,  might  easily  get  all  the 
confirmation  necessary.  It  is  a  matter  of  importance 
to  me,"  he  added.  "  I  want  to  find  the  person  respon- 
sible for  that  robbery.  So,  if  you  really  wish  to  help 
me  as  you  say,  here's  your  opportunity.  At  the  same 
time,  I'll  make  it  well  worth  your  while." 

Hazel  nodded  understandingly.  "  I'll  try."  She 
sat  silent  a  moment  as  if  thinking.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  was  reflecting  that,  if  the  worst  came  to  the 
worst,  she  might  use  this  to  cope  with  the  "  Hornet." 
A  wicked  little  glimmer  stole  into  her  eyes. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  251 

With  her  thoughts  thus  occupied,  a  question  which 
Whitefield  suddenly  shot  at  her  almost  took  her  off  her 
guard,  but  she  managed  to  repress  the  slight  start  it 
gave  her. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  man  they  call  the  '  Hor- 
net '  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  '  Hornet '  ?  "  Her  eyes,  looking  straight  into 
his,  were  limpidly  innocent.  "  A  man  with  a  scar  on 
his  face?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  is  the  one  that  the  police  have  always  sus- 
pected." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  think  so.  He  might 
have  been  *  in '  of  course ;  but  it  was  some  one  else  I 
had  in  mind.  I'll  tell  you,"  she  steered  away  from 
dangerous  ground.  "  Suppose  I  try  to  get  on  the  right 
track  by  dropping  around  to  the  places  where  the  stuff 
taken  would  most  likely  have  been  disposed  of,  and 
doing  a  little  discreet  gossiping." 

"  Good,"  he  commended.  "  And  if  you  could  lo- 
cate any  of  it,  that  would  give  us  direct  connection  with 
the  thief.  We  should  need  no  better  evidence." 

"  Have  you  a  list  of  the  various  things  they  got?  " 
she  asked  in  her  usual  businesslike  fashion. 

He  reached  into  one  of  the  pigeonholes  of  his  desk, 
and  handed  her  a  typewritten  sheet.  But  as  she 
scanned  it,  noting  that  it  listed  only  a  few  inconse- 
quential trinkets,  she  appeared  puzzled. 

"  But  this  is  not  all  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  There  were 
also  some  sapphires  taken,  were  there  not?  Big  sap- 
phires, worth  more  than  all  of  this  junk  put  together." 
Her  tone  betrayed  how  she  still  regretted  the  loss  of 
those  four  splendid  stones  which  the  "  Hornet "  had 
let  her  touch  but  not  keep. 

"  Sapphires  ? "    repeated   Whitefield   with   a   start. 


252  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Hurriedly  he  took  the  list  from  her  hand,  and  glanced 
over  it.  "  No ;  there  are  no  sapphires  here,  and  this 
includes  everything  which  was  taken." 

Hazel  saw  that  she  had  made  a  false  step  of  some 
kind. 

"  I  thought  I  remembered  a  mention  of  some  sap- 
phires in  the  newspaper  accounts,"  she  hedged  a  bit. 
"  However,  it  doesn't  signify.  I'll  try  to  trace  up 
what's  here,"  she  repossessed  herself  of  the  list,  as  she 
rose  again  to  leave.  "  And  I'll  see  you  this  evening  at 
half -past  six,  Mr.  Whitefield." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FOR  several  minutes  after  Hazel  Phillips  left,  White- 
field  sat  absorbed  in  thought ;  then,  swinging  around  to 
his  desk,  he  drew  another  of  those  typed  lists  from  the 
pigeonhole,  and  studied  it  carefully. 

There  was  nothing  in  it  to  suggest  sapphires,  and  he 
knew  that  this  was  exactly  the  same  list  which  had 
been  furnished  to  the  newspapers,  and  published  by 
them. 

Odd,  then,  that  the  girl  should  have  made  such  a 
mistake.  Odder,  still,  that  she  should  have  described 
stones  of  the  same  character  as  those  which  composed 
Freda's  magnificent  necklace. 

A  hundred  circumstances  of  the  last  few  weeks, 
hitherto  unnoted,  but  now  assuming  a  disturbing  sig- 
nificance, thronged  upon  his  mind.  He  took  up  a  cigar 
to  help  him  clarify  his  thoughts,  cut  off  the  end  of  it, 
and  thrust  it  in  his  mouth,  but  quite  forgot  to  light  it. 
His  hand  was  busy,  though,  running  his  perpetual 
scales. 

Finally,  he  turned  to  the  telephone,  called  for  his 
house,  and  asked  to  speak  with  Freda. 

"Anything  especial  on  for  to-day?"  he  inquired, 
when  he  heard  her  voice  in  response. 

"  Nothing  very  important,"  she  replied.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  having  an  off  day  in  a  way.  Only  routine 
matters  here.  I  thought,  if  you  don't  mind,  we  might 
have  luncheon  together  somewhere.  Let  me  see;  it's 
half -past  twelve  now.  Can  you  get  down  here  by 
one?" 


254  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  agreed.  "  I  had  just  sent  for  my 
car,  anyway."  She  made  a  brief  pause.  "  There's 
nothing  you  wish  to  talk  to  me  about,  you  say  ?  Noth- 
ing unexpected  has  come  up  ?  " 

"  No.  Oh,  no.  Just  come  along.  I'll  expect  you 
by  one."  And  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 

With  that,  as  if  he  had  settled  upon  his  course,  and 
saw  no  need  to  give  it  further  reflection,  his  mood 
changed.  He  pressed  a  push-button  on  his  desk,  and 
when  Bates,  the  stenographer,  appeared,  plunged 
briskly  into  a  mass  of  correspondence.  He  had  just 
finished  dictating  the  last  letter  when  Freda  arrived. 

As  she  came  into  the  office,  Whitefield  looked  at  her 
more  closely  than  he  had  done  for  a  long,  long  time  — 
not  merely  accepting  her  as  one  of  the  features  of  his 
environment,  but  actually  seeing  her  as  something  de- 
tached and  individual. 

Had  he  but  realized  it,  Freda  was  looking  better  than 
she  had  for  weeks.  Her  expression,  her  whole  gen- 
eral effect,  was  more  carefree,  less  harassed  with  the 
improvement  in  her  spirits.  The  assurance  she  had 
received  from  Wimms  of  having  her  sapphires  restored 
had  acted  upon  her  like  a  tonic. 

Whitefield  knew  her  pretty  well  —  thoroughly,  he 
thought.  He  felt  sure  enough  of  her  cooperation  in 
anything  which  she  thought  might  advance  their  mu- 
tual interests,  but  he  was  also  acquainted  with  her 
duplicities  and  slippery  evasions.  Therefore,  not  wish- 
ing to  arouse  her  suspicions  to  the  point  where  she 
would  be  on  guard,  he  approached  the  issue  indirectly, 
and  then  not  until  they  were  in  the  limousine  and  on 
their  way.  They  had  proceeded  a  half  dozen  blocks  or 
more,  when  he  turned  to  her  quite  casually  and  natu- 
rally. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  255 

"  By  the  way,  Freda,  I  want  you  to  get  me  your 
sapphires." 

He  saw  her  quick  movement,  and  its  instant  repres- 
sion. There  was  a  moment  of  strained  silence. 

"  My  sapphires?  "  She  exerted  all  her  will,  all  her 
power  of  self-control,  and  yet  she  realized,  furious  at 
herself,  that  her  voice  as  she  answered  was  uncertain, 
trembling. 

"  Yes."  He  was  still  perfectly  matter-of-fact. 
"  And  your  pearls,  too.  I  want  to  have  both  sets  re- 
appraised. Diamonds  have  gone  up  considerably  in 
price,  I  know,  and  I  suppose  the  other  stones  have  also. 
But  I'd  like  to  get  an  exact  valuation.  We  can  drive 
on  to  the  bank  now,  and  get  the  two  sets  out  of  safety 
deposit,  and  then  after  luncheon,  we'll  go  over  and 
leave  them  at  Reiffenberg's."  He  started  to  give  his 
directions  to  the  chauffeur. 

The  blood  in  Freda's  veins  seemed  turning  to  ice. 
There  was  a  wavering  darkness  before  her  eyes.  She 
felt  dully  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting,  and 
fought  despairingly  against  it. 

"  Oh,  not  to-day,"  she  demurred,  striving  to  speak 
lightly,  with  a  suggestion  of  caprice.  "  I  thought  we 
were  going  to  have  just  a  good  time,  with  no  worries 
or  bothers  of  any  kind.  Besides,  I'm  literally  starving. 
Let's  go  straight  to  luncheon  now,  William.  And  this 
afternoon  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  American 
Art  Galleries  to  see  the  De  Marsac  collection." 

"  Fine,"  he  agreed  cheerfully.  "  Fellow  was  telling 
me  about  those  pictures  only  last  night  at  the  club. 
This  little  matter  about  the  sapphires  and  pearls  won't 
take  up  any  time,  though.  All  we  have  to  do  is  get 
them  and  leave  them  at  Reiffenberg's;  and  then  it  will 
be  off  my  mind." 


256  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"But —  But — "  She  cast  wildly  about  for  an 
excuse.  "  I  haven't  the  key  to  my  safety-deposit  box 
with  me.  Do  let  this  idea  go  until  to-morrow.  It 
will  throw  us  out  on  everything." 

"  Nonsense,  Freda !  "  There  was  a  touch  of  irrita- 
tion creeping  into  his  voice.  "  Why  are  you  putting 
up  all  these  fool  objections?  The  sapphires  are  there 
all  right,  aren't  they?  You  haven't  done  anything 
with  them  ?  " 

She  forced  a  smile,  and  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  Wil- 
liam, you  are  so  wearing  at  times  with  your  persist- 
ence. What  difference  does  it  make  whether  you  get 
those  things  to  Reiffenberg  to-day  or  next  week? 
And  I'm  only  asking  you  to  wait  until  to-morrow.  I 
haven't  been  very  strong  this  autumn,  as  you  know, 
and  now  you  are  spoiling  the  pleasant  little  luncheon  I 
was  looking  forward  to.  Also,  I've  set  my  heart  on 
seeing  the  De  Marsac  collection  this  afternoon.  I 
think  you  might  yield  to  my  whims  once  in  a  while, 
even  if  they  do  seem  absurd  and  unreasonable  to  you." 
She  laid  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder,  and  stroked 
her  hand  coaxingly  down  his  sleeve. 

"  Sorry,"  laconically.  "  But  in  view  of  some  rather 
important  things  which  may  come  up,  I've  got  to  know 
where  I  stand,  and  I  want  an  immediate  revaluation  of 
those  pearls  and  sapphires.  A  day  might  make  all  the 
difference  in  the  world." 

"  Wait  then  at  least  until  after  luncheon,"  she 
pleaded. 

"  No.  By  the  time  that  we  had  finished,  and  you'd 
go  home  after  the  key,  there  might  be  some  other  delay, 
and  then  it  would  be  too  late  to  get  them  out  to-day. 
Don't  be  so  foolish,  Freda.  It's  a  very  small  thing  I 
am  asking  of  you.  Let  us  have  no  more  argument 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  257 

about  it.     Home,  Waldo !  "  he  instructed  the  chauffeur 
through  the  speaking  tube. 

Freda  leaned  back,  silent.  Trapped,  she  was  won- 
dering wildly  if  there  was  any  possible  way  for  her 
to  extricate  herself.  But  the  nearer  they  approached 
the  house,  the  more  confused  and  hopeless  her  thoughts 
became;  and  when  they  arrived,  it  seemed  almost  im- 
possible for  her  to  drag  herself  up  the  steps. 

Whitefield,  directing  the  chauffeur  to  wait,  followed 
close  behind  her,  but  turned  in  at  the  door  of  his 
library. 

"  Now  don't  be  forever  getting  that  key,"  he  said 
as  she  started  up  the  stairs.  "  I'm  beginning  to  feel 
hungry,  too." 

She  was  gone  about  five  minutes;  then  she  walked 
swiftly  into  the  library. 

"  William,"  she  spoke  with  the  courage  of  despair, 
"  the  sapphires  are  not  at  the  bank.  They  were  in 
the  safe  here  the  night  of  the  robbery,  and  were  taken 
with  the  other  things.  They  will  be  back  in  my  hands, 
though,  at  half-past  five  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"  You  don't  mean  the  entire  set  was  stolen?  "  He 
stared  at  her.  This  was  the  real  surprise  to  him. 

"  Yes :  the  entire  set." 

"  And  the  pearls,  too  ?  " 

"  No.  I  wore  them  the  night  of  our  dance,  you  re- 
member." 

Yes,  he  did  remember  that.  But  his  expression  of 
relief  at  this  assurance  was  transitory.  He  scowled 
heavily  at  the  thought  of  the  greater  loss,  and  took  a 
step  toward  her. 

"  But  why  didn't  you  mention  such  a  loss  to  me  be- 
fore?" he  demanded.  "Why  didn't  you  speak  of  it 
at  the  time?  What's  back  of  all  this,  Freda?  It's 


258  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

perfectly  useless  for  you  to  hedge,  or  try  to  lie  out  of 
anything.  I  want  the  straight  facts,  and  I  mean  to 
have  them.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Freda's  mouth  felt  dry.  There  was  a  choking  sen- 
sation in  her  throat.  She  put  her  hand  to  it,  as  if  to 
ease  the  constriction. 

The  scene  she  had  dreaded  and  feared  was  on. 
Sometimes  at  night  she  had  wakened  from  sleep, 
dreaming  of  this  cross-examination.  She  struggled 
now  to  remember  her  points,  and  make  plausible  and 
coherent  the  story  she  had  decided  to  tell. 

"I  —  I  happened  to  be  at  the  bank  the  afternoon 
before  the  robbery,"  she  began  her  explanation.  "  It 
was  in  my  mind  to  wear  my  sapphires  at  that  dinner 
of  the  Collinges  the  next  evening,  and  it  struck  me 
that  I  could  save  another  trip  by  taking  them  with  me. 
So  I  got  them  out  and  bringing  them  home  with  me, 
put  them  in  the  safe.  I  put  them  there  myself." 

"  And  then  when  the  robbery  occurred,  and  you 
knew  that  they  were  gone,  you  didn't  think  it  worth 
while  to  mention  the  matter."  He  muttered  an  oath. 
"  All  you  saw  fit  to  tell  about  was  a  few  rings  and 
brooches  ?  " 

"  You  were  so  terribly  upset  over  the  loss  of  the 
Colvin  papers,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  realized,  too,  that 
the  affair  was  more  than  a  simple  burglary.  There 
was  a  plot  behind  it  to  ruin  you.  I  hadn't  the  cour- 
age to  tell  you  about  the  sapphires,  and  add  to  your 
anxieties." 

His  eyes,  as  he  continued  to  gaze  at  her,  contracted 
until  they  seemed  like  pin-points  of  fire.  A  slow,  deep 
red  crept  up  into  his  cheeks.  His  voice  was  a  little 
thick. 

"  Don't  attempt  to  bamboozle  me  with  your  weak, 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  259 

rotten  lies.  I'll  get  the  real  truth  out  of  you  before 
I'm  through;  never  fear.  But  there's  just  one  point  I 
want  made  clear  before  we  go  any  further.  You  said 
something  about  getting  the  stones  back  —  something 
about  having  them  in  your  hands  at  half -past  five. 
What  did  you  mean  by  it  ?  "  He  eyed  her  sharply. 
"  Only  another  silly  subterfuge?  " 

Her  throat  eased  a  little  at  the  prospect  of  even  a 
temporary  respite  from  the  inquisition  to  which  he  was 
subjecting  her.  There  was  a  sob  in  her  voice  as  she 
spoke,  but  it  was  a  sob  of  relief. 

"  I've  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  find  those  sap- 
phires, William,  to  get  some  trace  of  them;  and  owing 
to  my  efforts,  a  man  —  not  one  of  the  actual  thieves,  I 
think,  but  closely  associated  with  them  —  got  into  com- 
munication with  me  the  other  day,  and  after  a  lot  of 
haggling,  agreed  to  return  the  set  for  fifteen  thousand 
dollars.  That  is  the  very  least  that  I  could  get  him 
to  take;  he  held  out  for  a  great  deal  more.  He  has 
promised  to  meet  me  at  half-past  five  o'clock  this  after- 
noon to  receive  the  money  and  hand  me  over  the  stones. 
That  is  the  reason  I  tried  so  hard  to  put  you  off  until 
to-morrow." 

She  was  telling  the  truth  now,  he  was  certain  of 
that.  But  the  truth  he  found  even  less  plausible  than 
her  fictions. 

"  H'm-m !  "  Again  that  piercing  look  from  under 
his  wrinkled  brows.  "Fifteen  thousand  dollars? 
Why,  that's  a  bagatelle  compared  to  what  he  could  get 
for  them.  It  doesn't  sound  reasonable." 

"  I  tell  you  he  wanted  a  great  deal  more.  It  was 
only  when  I  convinced  him  that  it  was  all  I  could  offer, 
and  that  I  would  not  appeal  to  you,  that  he  consented. 
Perhaps,"  she  ventured,  "  the  police  are  closer  on  their 


2<5o  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

trail  than  we  imagine.  Perhaps  he  did  not  dare  to  go 
into  any  lengthy  bargaining,  or  to  try  to  dispose  of 
them  elsewhere,  but  preferred  to  play  safe." 

"The  police?"  He  laughed  scoffingly.  "No;  I 
know  what's  doing  there,  and  they're  as  much  up  in 
the  air  as  they  ever  were.  I'm  done  with  them." 

"  Well,  then,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  and  this  is  nearer 
my  own  idea,  it  may  be  that  the  man  is  selling  out  the 
thieves  —  betraying  a  trust  they've  placed  in  him,  or 
something  of  the  kind.  That  would  explain  his  eager- 
ness for  quick  results." 

"  Ah  ?  "  with  a  nod.  "  That  is  more  like  it.  And 
he  has  arranged  to  meet  you  this  afternoon  to  return 
the  stones?  Good.  We'll  get  the  sapphires  and  him 
both,  if  what  you're  telling  me  is  true."  He  reached 
out  for  the  telephone.  "  It's  odds  on  that  a  fellow  of 
that  sort  will  tell  the  whole  story,  if  we  can  get  our 
hands  on  him." 

"  No,  no,"  she  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  his  arm ; 
"  you  must  not  do  that.  You  will  spoil  any  chance  of 
recovering  the  sapphires.  He  told  me  so.  He  said 
that  if  I  made  any  attempt  to  have  him  spied  upon  or 
intercepted,  I  could  say  good-by  to  them  once  and  for 
all.  Besides,  it  will  be  impossible  to  catch  him ;  he  has 
made  his  arrangements  too  cleverly.  I  am  to  leave  the 
house  alone,  and  start  out  as  if  for  a  walk.  Some- 
where along  the  street  a  taxicab  will  pick  me  up,  and 
take  me  to  him.  That  is  all  he  has  permitted  me  to 
know." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  at  her  protest  and  set  down 
the  telephone ;  then  on  reconsideration  took  it  up  again. 

"  We'll  give  him  a  run  for  it,  anyway,"  he  said. 
"  On  a  simple  proposition  like  this,  the  police  can  gen- 
erally be  trusted.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  following  up 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  261 

this  taxicab,  as  I  see  it.  I'm  going  to  lay  it  before  the 
Inspector." 

"  William,  wait !  "  She  caught  at  his  hand  again. 
Paler  than  ever,  she  looked  ghastly  now,  and  her  voice 
was  a  shrill,  strained  whisper.  "  The  police  must  not 
be  brought  into  this,"  she  insisted.  "  There  is  no  rea- 
son why  they  should  be.  I  do  not  care  anything  about 
this  man.  All  I  want  is  my  sapphires.  Why  take  even 
a  risk  in  the  matter?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  speak  to  the  Inspector  just  the  same." 
His  voice  was  cool,  but  too  well  she  knew  the  meaning 
of  the  knife-edge  in  it.  "  Let  go  of  my  hand,  please." 

She  threw  herself  forward  instead,  and  snatching  at 
the  instrument,  struggled  with  him  for  its  possession. 

"You  shall  not  telephone  the  police!"  she  cried, 
clutching  frantically  to  hold  the  receiver  down  upon 
its  hook.  "  You  shall  not.  I  will  not  have  them 
brought  into  this  thing.  They  would  get  to  probing 
into  the  theft  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  that  would 
mean  a  scandal." 

Whitefield  abruptly  released  his  hold  upon  the  tele- 
phone, and  left  it  in  her  hands.  Then,  walking  over  to 
a  table  near  by,  he  selected  a  cigar,  and  clipping  the 
end,  lighted  it,  all  with  the  utmost  deliberation.  When 
it  was  going  to  his  satisfaction,  he  returned. 

"  So?  "  Again  he  bent  upon  her  the  battery  of  his 
eyes.  "  That  brings  me  back  once  more  to  the  point 
where  I  was  led  to  digress  —  the  real  facts  of  this  so- 
called  '  theft '  which  you  are  so  anxious  to  avoid  having 
investigated.  You've  said  too  much  now,  Freda,  to  try 
to  keep  anything  back.  You  might  as  well  tell  the 
whole  story.  Nor  is  there  any  use  in  entangling  your- 
self in  any  more  lies.  You're  simply  wasting  time.'' 

In  her   frightened,   overwrought  state,   there   was 


262  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

something  almost  appalling  to  her  in  his  steady  pur- 
pose to  discredit  every  feature  of  her  story,  his  calm, 
unwavering  determination  to  dig  down  to  the  very 
roots  of  the  matter.  And  behind  the  collapse  of  her 
resource  and  power  of  invention  —  responsible  for  it, 
in  fact  —  was  the  constantly  recurring  fear  that  he 
knew  more  than  she  had  thought.  This  conviction  had 
been  forcing  itself  upon  her  ever  since  his  first  mention 
of  the  sapphires,  until  now  it  had  sapped  the  founda- 
tions of  her  self-control.  But  still  she  struggled,  en- 
deavoring to  use  all  of  her  feminine  subtlety  in  the  ef- 
fort to  save  herself  as  much  as  possible. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  so  simple,  if  you  would  only  under- 
stand," she  cried.  "  It  doesn't  really  amount  to  any- 
thing. "  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you  at  the  time,  because, 
as  I  have  said,  you  were  so  terribly  upset  over  the  loss 
of  the  Colvin  papers ;  and  then  to-day  the  whole  thing 
seemed  so  silly,  that  I  just  made  up  a  convenient  story. 
It  was  weak  of  me,  I  know ;  but  you  really  forced  me 
to  it,  the  way  you  have  been  making  mountains  out  of 
mole-hills.  However,  the  actual  facts  are —  You'll 
think  me  an  awful  fool,  of  course,  but  —  Well,  it  was 
this  way.  Ollie  —  Ollie  Darnton,  you  know  —  had  got 
in  an  awful  hole,  went  broke  on  the  market,  and  he  — 
he  confided  in  me*  You  see,  he  was  here  so  much,  and 
he  literally  didn't  know  where  to  turn,  or  what  to  do. 
Some  of  the  money  he  had  used  was  not  his  own.  He 
was,  oh,  wild,  threatening  to  commit  suicide,  don't  you 
know.  And  I  got  worried  and  sympathetic,  and  of- 
fered to  help  him  raise  the  money  by  letting  him  pawn 
my  sapphires.  Oh !  "  she  burst  out  hysterically,  press- 
ing her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  "  I  can't  go  on  if 
you  keep  looking  at  me  like  that,  as  if  I  had  committed 
a  crime.  It  was  only  a  loan  —  a  loan  which  was  sure 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  263 

to  be  paid  back.  Why,  I  knew  it  was  good,  and  so  it 
proved. 

"  Ollie's  father  gave  him  the  money  as  soon  as  he 
got  back  from  Europe,  and  Ollie  at  once  redeemed  the 
stones,  and  brought  them  back  to  me.  He  gave  them 
to  me  at  the  Hortons'  dinner  —  the  evening  of  the  rob- 
bery, you  know  —  and  that  night  about  twelve  o'clock, 
I  slipped  down-stairs  and  put  them  in  the  safe.  I  have 
often  wondered  if  the  robbers  were  not  in  the  house 
even  then,  and  watching  me  as  I  did  so.  And  then, 
when  I  found  that  they  had  been  taken,  I  didn't  dare, 
as  I  say,  to  tell  you.  And  —  that's  all." 

"I  wonder  if  that  is  all?  I  wonder,"  muttered 
Whitefield.  Every  trace  of  bluff  geniality  had  van- 
ished from  his  face  and  bearing.  His  glance  was  dark 
and  wolfish.  "  I  wonder  if  it  was  not  you  and  Darn- 
ton  who  planned  this  robbery  together?  By  Jove,  if 
you  did  — !  But  no ;  you  would  have  tried  to  hold  me 
up  before  this." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  put  the  supposition  from  him. 
Then  he  came  back  to  the  moment,  and  to  the  woman 
cowering  in  her  chair,  dabbing  at  her  eyes. 

"  You  fool !  "  he  said,  with  a  contempt  beyond  words. 
"  You  fool !  I  thought  I  knew  you  through  and 
through.  I  see  I  flattered  you.  I  thought  your  measly 
soul  was  all  in  your  luxuries.  I  thought  that  you  fully 
appreciated  the  value  of  your  position  as  my  wife. 
But  I  under-estimated  your  idiotic  vanity.  Was  Ollie 
Darnton  the  best  that  you  could  do  ?  A  poor,  brainless 
whiffet,  willing  to  let  a  woman  dole  him  out  pocket- 
money  and  pull  him  out  of  his  holes.  If  I  cared  a 
tinker's  dam  about  you,  Freda,"  he  pounded  on  the 
table  with  his  open  palm,  "  I'd  give  you  a  good  beat- 
ing, kick  that  degenerate  little  ass  out  of  my  house,  and 


264  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

see  to  it  that  you  behaved  yourself  in  the  future.  Do 
you  think  for  a  minute  that  you  have  fooled  me  all 
these  years?  Not  for  one  second.  But  I  simply  — 
didn't  —  care.  All  you  ever  had  to  attract  a  man  was 
your  looks,  and  they  are  about  gone." 

Just  then  his  eye  caught  an  oval  mirror  in  a  frame 
of  chased  silver,  hanging  where  a  shaft  of  sunlight  fell 
across  it.  He  was  on  his  feet,  and  had  caught  Freda 
by  the  arm,  and  was  pushing  her  toward  it  before  she 
realized  what  he  was  doing. 

"  There's  your  judge !  "  he  cried,  pointing  toward 
her  reflection.  "  There's  your  sentence !  There's  the 
question  and  the  answer !  " 

The  sun-lighted  mirror  gave  back  her  image  with 
a  merciless  distinctness.  The  beauty  for  which  she 
lived  had  betrayed  and  deserted  her.  Time,  the  satir- 
ist, had  stripped  her  of  her  worshipped  mask  of  glori- 
ous flesh,  and  had  written  upon  her  face  and  in  her 
eyes  the  small,  the  base,  the  sensual  secrets  of  her  soul. 

And,  as  she  looked,  she  felt  hope,  the  savor  of  life  — 
life  itself,  it  seemed  to  her  —  die  within  her.  The 
world,  all  the  world  she  could  conceive  of,  was  in  ruins. 
It  was  not  in  her  either  to  imagine  or  to  build  another. 
She  had  doomed  herself  to  wander  amid  the  dust  and 
ashes,  mourning  the  vanished  mirage  of  her  own  love- 
liness. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BUT  cataclysms  and  crises  alter  but  little  the  regular 
business  of  life.  Breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  go  on 
as  before ;  waking  follows  sleep ;  seedtime  and  harvest 
do  not  fail ;  habit  asserts  itself. 

Maimed  and  crushed,  beaten  and  dispirited  though 
she  was,  Freda  never  thought  of  failing  to  set  out  at  the 
appointed  time  to  recover  her  stolen  jewels.  It  was  a 
relief  to  substitute  action  of  any  kind  for  her  dreary  re- 
flections. 

The  gray,  early  dusk  was  falling  as  she  came  out 
of  the  house,  muffled  in  her  dark  furs,  but  it  was  still 
light  enough  for  her  to  be  recognized ;  and  as  the  Ave- 
nue was  thronged  with  motor  and  carriage  folk  whom 
she  knew,  she  turned  with  the  stricken  creature's  in- 
stinct to  hide,  and  hurried  off  eastward. 

She  had  received  no  instructions  as  to  the  way  she 
was  to  take,  and  consequently  choosing  her  own  paths, 
she  found  herself  presently  on  Lexington  Avenue. 
For  perhaps  a  dozen  blocks  she  walked  straight  ahead, 
growing  more  nervous  and  apprehensive  all  the  time. 
The  unusualness  of  her  errand,  the  large  amount  of 
money  she  was  carrying,  gave  rise  to  all  manner  of 
sinister  suggestions.  She  glanced  back  over  her  shoul- 
der every  step  or  two,  with  the  feeling  that  some  one 
was  creeping  stealthily  up  behind  her. 

And  then  a  taxicab  whirled  up  to  the  curb  beside  her 
and  stopped. 

There  was  no  question  asked  in  regard  to  her  iden- 
tity ;  she  had  evidently  been  watched  and  followed  from 


266  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

the  moment  she  left  the  house.  The  driver  merely 
threw  open  the  cab  door,  and  nodded  to  her  to  enter. 

"  Be  quick,  please,"  he  said. 

Freda  hesitated  a  second,  then  obeyed.  The  door 
slammed  upon  her,  the  driver  threw  forward  his  clutch, 
and  they  were  off.  The  course  seemed  to  be  devious, 
with  many  detours,  but  she  judged  from  various  land- 
marks that  the  direction  was  generally  northward,  and 
presently  they  flashed  across  Broadway  at  One  Hun- 
dred and  Forty-ninth  Street,  and  so  on  into  Washing- 
ton Park  Road. 

So  far  the  driver  had  hardly  slackened  speed,  but 
now,  as  they  came  to  a  lonely  stretch  where  the  trees 
grew  close  along  a  bend  in  the  road,  he  slowed  down 
without  actually  coming  to  a  stop.  An  instant  later 
the  door  opened,  and  a  small  figure  whom  Freda  recog- 
nized as  Wimms  slipped  inside. 

Crouched  back  in  her  corner,  tense  and  frightened, 
she  could  barely  repress  a  scream  at  his  sudden  appear- 
ance, but  he  made  haste  to  reassure  her  by  offering 
apologies  in  that  soft,  humble  voice  of  his. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  I'm  sure,  ma'am,  for  giving  you 
such  a  turn,  but  one  has  to  be  a  bit  careful  at  times  in 
handling  these  little  affairs.  Oh,  yes,  indeed;  quite 
so." 

He  was  so  small  and  insignificant,  so  obviously  in- 
nocuous, that  Freda  felt  her  courage  return.  She 
made  an  impatient  movement  of  her  hand  to  cut  short 
his  excuses. 

"  Have  you  got  them  —  the  sapphires  ?  "  she  asked. 

For  answer,  'Wimms  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  of 
his  coat  a  flat  parcel,  and  carefully  unfolded  the  paper 
in  which  it  was  wrapped.  He  breathed  with  a  sort  of 
worshipping  awe.  Finally  disclosing  a  leather  case, 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  267 

he  laid  it  open  on  her  knee,  and  drew  back  slightly, 
mopping  at  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  My  word !  "  he  sighed.  "  It's  almost  enough  to 
turn  one's  brain  to  see  a  set  like  that.  I'm  used  to 
handling  jewels  now  and  then  —  But  these  — !  "  He 
gazed  at  them  reverently.  "  Well,  they're  something 
you  dream  about." 

Freda  paid  no  heed  to  him.  She  was  bending  over 
the  case,  staring  down  absorbedly  at  the  familiar  pieces. 
Then  the  tension  broke,  and  clutching  the  case  to 
her,  she  fell  to  sobbing  in  passionate  relief. 

Wimms  restrained  an  inclination  to  pat  her  on  the 
shoulder.  Resolutely  putting  duty  before  his  sympa- 
thetic impulses,  he  laid  a  firm  hand  on  the  case  in- 
stead. 

"  There,  there,"  he  murmured  soothingly,  "  'tis  nat- 
ural you  should  wish  to  hold  on  to  'em.  But  first, 
please  remember,  there's  a  little  matter  of  business  to 
be  settled  between  us." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Freda ;  "  the  fifteen  thousand  dol- 
lars. I  had  forgotten." 

She  reached  into  her  muff,  and  taking  out  a  roll  of 
bills,  handed  them  over  to  him. 

"  Count  it,  please,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  about  to  do  so,  ma'am,"  and  he  did  in  a  fur- 
tive, hasty  way,  but,  she  could  see,  very  thoroughly. 
"  Quite  correct,"  he  licked  his  lips  as  he  finished ; 
"  and  thank  you  kindly.  Well,"  he  pressed  his  face 
against  the  glass  of  the  door,  "  here's  where  I  get  off, 
ma'am.  The  man  will  take  you  to  the  neighborhood  of 
a  subway  station,  and  you  can  easy  get  a  train  down- 
town. So  thank  you  again,  ma'am,  and  good-by. 
I'm  sure  there's  no  one  wishing  you  more  health  and 
happiness  than  me." 


268  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

He  rapped  lightly  on  the  front  pane  of  the  cab,  and 
then  as  the  chauffeur  slowed  down,  vanished  as  he  had 
come. 

It  was  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  afterward  that 
Freda  reached  home.  With  the  case  under  her  arm, 
she  walked  straight  to  her  husband's  study,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table  beside  him. 

He  was  sitting,  making  a  pretense  of  reading  one  of 
the  evening  papers,  but  in  reality  his  mind  was  con- 
centrated on  the  two  events  of  real  importance  to  him 
just  then,  the  recovery  of  the  sapphires  and  the  Colvin 
documents. 

"  Here  are  the  sapphires."  Freda's  voice  was  re- 
pressed, emotionless. 

He  threw  over  his  electric  reading-lamp  so  that  the 
light  fell  directly  on  the  table,  and  opened  the  case; 
but  drew  back  blinking  before  the  dazzle  of  blue  fire 
which  blazed  up  at  him. 

"  By  Jove !  The  real  thing,  all  right !  "  Then,  more 
cautiously :  "  Sure,  there  are  no  substitutes  here  and 
there?"  He  lifted  the  set,  piece  by  piece,  and  care- 
fully examined  each. 

Freda  gave  a  smile  of  weary  contempt.  "  I  know 
them  all  by  heart,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  they're  the  real  thing,"  he  muttered,  gloating 
over  their  blue  magnificence.  Ah,  he  was  winning, 
winning  all  along  the  line ! 

"  Good  girl !  "  he  said  approvingly.  "  I'm  willing  to 
overlook  considerable  for  this." 

"  But  what  about  me  ? "  she  asked,  still  in  that 
dull,  colorless  voice.  "  It's  all  over  with  me  —  every- 
thing—  the  whole  big,  empty,  stupid  show.  I'm 
done." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  in  a  tone  of  rough  kindness ; 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  269 

"  you  mustn't  — "  Then  as  he  saw  her  ghastly  face 
with  the  deep,  black  circles  under  the  eyes,  he  pulled  a 
chair  toward  her,  and  pressed  her  into  it. 

"  Here,  sit  down,"  peremptorily.  "  I'll  ring  for 
Dempsey  to  bring  you  a  glass  of  sherry.  Your  nerves 
have  simply  gone  to  smash  over  these  sapphires.  No 
wonder.  I  know  what  I've  been  through  on  account  of 
the  Colyin  papers.  And  look  here;  you  mustn't  take 
to  heart  what  I  said  a  while  ago.  I  was  upset  and  ex- 
cited, I  guess.  Forget  it." 

He  broke  off  to  give  Dempsey,  who  had  appeared  at 
the  door,  the  order  for  the  sherry.  Then,  when  the 
butler  returned,  he  took  the  glass  himself,  and  held  it 
to  Freda's  white  lips. 

"  Drink  it,"  he  urged,  and  as  she  silently  obeyed, 
"  you  will  feel  better  soon." 

He  took  the  empty  glass,  and  set  it  down  upon  the 
table.  "  There  are  one  or  two  things  I  want  to  say 
to  you,  Freda,  and  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  glanced  at  her 
inquiringly,  "  I'd  like  to  get  them  said,  and  out  of  the 
way." 

"  By  all  means,"  she  replied  politely,  but  without  in- 
terest. 

"  Freda,  we  have  each  gone  our  own  way  too  many 
years  for  me  to  rant  around  now  over  my  rights  as  a 
husband.  As  my  wife,  you  have  certainly  adorned  the 
position,  and  that  is  all  I  could  reasonably  ask.  I  have 
always  held,  as  you  know,  that  a  man's  or  a  woman's 
outside  friendships  or  affairs  of  the  heart  were  entirely 
their  own  business,  so  long  as  they  were  conducted  with 
a  due  regard  for  the  proprieties  and  in  good  taste. 
You  stumbled  a  bit  in  both  respects  in  this  last  matter ; 
and  that,  and  the  thought  of  losing  a  fortune  in  jewels 
through  your  folly,  made  me  guilty  of  my  rather  melo- 


270  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

dramatic  rudeness  to  you.  I  can  only  say  that  I  am 
sorry." 

He  had  sat  down  while  he  was  talking,  but  she  on 
the  other  hand  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  now  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  The  action  was  me- 
chanical. She  did  not  even  see  him.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  dreary,  meaningless  wastes  of  the  years 
before  her. 

"  In  your  own  words,  William,  forget  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  had  very  little  to  complain  of  in  that  way  from 
you.  You  may  be  all  that  the  newspapers  call  you  — 
Wall  Street  crook,  corruptionist,  and  all  the  rest  of  it 
—  but  you  are  undoubtedly  a  big  man;  and  you  have 
been  good  enough  to  me,  too  good.  But,  you  see,  the 
trouble  all  along  has  been  that  we  never  loved  each 
other.  Perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  —  if  we  had,  it  might 
have  saved  us  both.  You  were  quite  right  when  you 
said  that  the  only  attraction  I  ever  had  for  you  was 
my  beauty,  and  that  that  sort  of  a  hold  doesn't  last  very 
long  with  a  man.  So  we  went  our  separate  ways." 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Whitefield,  as  she  went 
on,  although  her  hand  rested  on  his  shoulder.  Her 
eyes  still  looked  into  unfathomed  emptiness. 

"  I  suppose,  though,"  she  continued,  "  every  one  has 
got  something  real  somewhere  in  their  hearts  and  lives, 
and  the  one  real  thing  in  my  life  was  my  love  for  Ashe 
Colvin.  But  I  dreaded  and  feared  realities,  so  I  sold 
that  love  for  pearls  and  sapphires,  and  continued  to 
'  adorn  my  position  as  your  wife.'  Yet  the  heart  has 
to  have  its  Day  of  Judgment  as  well  as  the  soul.  You 
can  stifle  and  smother  feeling,  joy,  and  suffering  for 
years  perhaps,  and  believe  that  they  are  killed  in  you ; 
but  there  finally  comes  the  reckoning,  the  dreadful 
reckoning,  when  all  the  loss  and  the  pain  and  the 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  271 

smothered  love  comes  sweeping  back  to  you  like  a  wave 
of  the  sea,  and  you  can't  stop  it,  you  can't  check  it. 
It  overwhelms  you ;  it  drowns  you !  " 

She  would  probably  have  said  more;  but  at  this 
point  she  was  interrupted  by  a  light  knock  at  the  door 
and  the  entrance  of  Dempsey. 

"  Miss  Hazel  Phillips  to  see  you,  sir."  A  clock  in 
the  hall  chimed  the  half  hour  even  as  the  butler  spoke. 
Punctual  as  ever,  Miss  Phillips  was  there  to  keep  her 
appointment. 

Whitefield  gave  a  start.  "  Certainly.  Show  her 
in,"  his  eagerness  was  apparent.  Then  his  eye  fell  on 
the  jewel  case  upon  the  table.  "  Or  wait  a  moment, 
Dempsey.  It  will  be  about  five  minutes  before  I  can 
see  her.  I  will  ring  to  let  you  know.  And  close  the 
door,  please,  as  you  go  out." 

He  turned  to  Freda.  "  Sorry,  my  dear,  but  this  is 
the  girl  I  spoke  to  you  about,  the  one  who  has  the  pa- 
pers. I  fancy  she  would  prefer  to  see  me  alone." 

A  glint  of  bitterness  showed  for  a  moment  in  her 
eyes.  Reaching  out  again,  as  he  was,  to  grasp  more 
firmly  the  reins  of  power  which  had  almost  slipped 
from  his  hands,  he  was  putting  her  and  her  affairs  aside 
as  matters  of  no  consequence.  She  noted  the  tense 
alertness  of  his  manner  with  a  touch  of  envy;  for  him, 
there  was  still  the  game  and  the  struggle.  Then  the 
bitterness  and  the  envy  died  in  a  wave  of  apathy. 
After  all,  what  did  it  matter  ?  What  did  anything  mat- 
ter? She  did  not  begrudge  him  his  zest  for  life.  And 
if  he  had  been  the  soul  of  sympathy,  how  could  he  have 
helped  her?  She  bowed  indifferently  to  his  request, 
and  passed,  a  silent,  tragic  figure,  from  the  room. 

Whitefield  hurriedly  manipulated  the  combination  of 
the  safe,  and  having  opened  its  door,  placed  the  case 


272  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

of  sapphires  in  an  inner  compartment.  Then  he 
touched  the  bell  for  Deinpsey. 

In  the  brief  interval  that  he  waited  for  the  appear- 
ance of  his  visitor,  he  noticed  with  surprised  irritation 
that  his  knees  were  shaking  and  his  hand  trembling, 
as  it  rested  on  the  table,  and  when  he  muttered  an  oath 
at  these  evidences  of  his  anxiety,  his  voice  sounded 
husky  and  uncertain  in  his  ears. 

Hazel  entered  with  that  mixture  of  demureness  and 
intrepidity  which  characterized  her.  But  his  eyes 
scarcely  rested  on  her  a  moment ;  they  fixed  themselves, 
instead,  with  hungry  intensity  upon  the  black  bag  she 
carried  in  her  hand,  a  shopping  bag  of  rather  large 
size. 

She  laid  this  on  his  desk,  and  snapped  open  the 
clasps ;  then  she  took  out  the  package,  and  handed  it  to 
him.  He  would  have  known  it  anywhere.  There 
could  be  no  question  of  its  genuineness.  The  Colvin 
papers  were  again  in  his  hands. 

Involuntarily  Whitefield  had  risen  while  the  girl  wras 
opening  her  bag.  Now  he  sat  down  again  suddenly 
and  hard.  He  broke  the  seals  of  the  package,  and 
ran  over  the  different  documents  it  contained ;  but  this 
was  more  as  a  matter  of  form,  and  to  let  him  get  hold 
of  himself.  Everything  was  there,  and  all  in  proper 
order.  Almost  solemnly  he  looked  up  to  Hazel,  and 
said: 

"Little  girl,  for  this  I'll  make  your  fortune!" 

"  I'll  hold  you  to  that,  Mr.  Whitefield."  She  smiled 
with  serene  assurance.  Then,  as  he  rose  with  the  pack- 
age of  papers  in  his  hand,  she  whisked  around  the  desk 
with  inconceivable  rapidity,  and  threw  herself  between 
him  and  the  fireplace,  where  a  fire  of  logs  was  briskly 
blazing. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  273 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  she  panted,  throwing  out  her 
arms.  "  You  don't  destroy  those  papers  yet.  Not  un- 
til I  get  my  fifty  thousand." 

Whitefield  laughed  admiringly  at  her  pygmy  de- 
fiance. "  You  needn't  be  afraid,  my  child,"  he  said. 
"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  your  —  er  —  honorarium, 
that  I  was  just  going  to  fetch.  Naturally  you  thought 
that  I  would  get  rid  of  these  as  soon  as  possible,"  he 
tapped  the  papers  in  his  hand ;  "  but  as  it  happens,  there 
are  certain  harmless  items  among  them,  records  of  old 
business  transactions,  which  I  wish  to  keep.  I  intend 
to  go  over  them  with  my  secretary  this  evening,  extract 
the  wheat  from  the  chaff,  and  then  burn  the  chaff. 
However,"  he  broke  off  with  another  laugh,  "  I  am 
still  keeping  you  waiting." 

He  walked  over  to  the  safe  which  he  had  left  open, 
and  laid  the  papers  inside.  Then  he  came  back  with 
a  package  of  bills,  and  placed  it  on  the  table  before  her. 

"  There,  my  child,  are  fifty  thousand-dollar  bills, 
and  I  may  say  that  I  have  never  paid  out  fifty  thousand 
dollars  before  with  more  pleasure,  or  to  better  advan- 
tage." 

Her  eyes  widened,  her  color  came  and  went.  She 
picked  up  the  money  in  a  frightened  sort  of  a  way. 
Her  supreme  self-confidence  vanished ;  she  appeared 
all  at  once  very  small  and  meek.  Slowly,  and  still  in 
a  bit  of  a  daze,  she  turned  over  the  crisp,  rustling  notes. 

Then,  as  her  mind  fully  grasped  the  fact  that  not 
only  was  each  one  of  these  bills  her  own,  but  also  the 
entire  amount  which  they  represented,  a  dazzle  swept 
over  her  face.  Her  whole  figure  appeared  to  dilate, 
as  she  saw  the  farther  and  yet  farther  horizons  open- 
ing before  her. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.     "You  can  talk  about  sun- 


274  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

rises  and  sunsets,  and  jewels,  and  works  of  art;  but, 
believe  me,  Mr.  Whitefield,  this,"  she  spread  the  bills 
out  fanlike  before  her,  "  is  the  most  beautiful  picture 
in  all  the  world !  " 

She  gathered  the  bills  together,  and  tucked  them 
into  the  bosom  of  her  blouse,  buttoned  her  jacket  over 
them,  and  from  one  of  her  pockets  took  a  tiny  but 
efficient  pistol  which  she  showed  hm. 

"  I'm  running  no  chances,  you  see,"  she  said ;  "  not 
with  this  picture  gallery  on  me.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  he  returned  heartily. 

The  door  closed  behind  her,  and  he  walked  over  to 
his  impregnable,  new  safe  which  now  at  last  held  not 
only  the  sapphires,  but  something  far  more  precious. 
Carefully  he  closed  the  heavy  door,  and  threw  on  the 
combination,  whistling  under  his  breath  as  he  did  so. 
He  had  just  turned  away,  and  was  glancing  at  the 
clock,  when  there  was  a  knock,  and  Muriel  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

She  was  entrancingly,  unusually  lovely  in  one  of 
those  evening  frocks  which  she  affected  where  all  the 
hues  of  the  sunset  seemed  blended.  The  color  in  her 
cheeks  and  lips  was  vivid  as  carnation  petals,  and  her 
emerald  eyes  gleamed  with  a  smoldering  excitement. 

"  What  ?  "  she  said.  "  Not  ready  for  dinner  ?  Well, 
come  along  as  you  are.  I  told  Dempsey  that  I  would 
let  you  know  that  Aunt  Freda  has  sent  word  she  will 
not  be  down  to-night;  so  I  am  going  to  utilize  the 
hour  to  talk  over  some  matters  of  great  importance  to 
me." 

"  Actually  going  to  confide  in  me,  or  ask  my  advice 
about  anything?  "  he  exclaimed  with  exaggerated  sar- 
casm. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  promise  that,"  she  replied  coolly. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  275 

"  Just  want  to  inform  me  of  your  intentions,  eh?  I 
see,"  he  laughed  unctuously.  Nothing  had  the  power 
to  irritate  him  at  that  moment,  not  even  Muriel.  "  All 
right."  He  followed  her  from  the  room. 


IN  the  hall  Muriel  left  him  for  a  moment  to  give 
some  directions  to  the  man  at  the  door. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  Whitefield  asked  sharply  as  she 
came  back  to  his  side.  With  her  he  was  always  more 
or  less  suspicious. 

"  Nothing."  She  raised  her  brows  slightly  at  his 
tone.  "  I  was  just  sending  James  out  for  some  ciga- 
rettes. There  are  none  of  my  kind  in  the  house,  and 
I  can't  smoke  those  little,  inane,  gold-tipped  things 
which  Aunt  Freda  affects." 

"  Couldn't  you  get  one  of  the  other  servants  to  run 
your  errands  ?  "  he  grumbled.  "  With  Dempsey  back 
in  the  dining-room,  and  James  away,  there  is  no  one 
in  the  hall.  I  don't  like  it." 

He  cast  an  uneasy  glance  back  at  his  unguarded 
study  and  hesitated,  as  if  meditating  a  return  to  it. 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Uncle  William!"  Muriel  scoffed. 
"  What  does  it  amount  to  ?  James  won't  be  gone  two 
minutes;  it's  only  just  around  the  corner.  And  there 
isn't  a  chance  of  anybody  coming  to  the  house  at  this 
hour." 

He  realized  that  he  was  exaggerating  a  trifle,  and 
therefore,  yielding  to  the  light  but  impelling  pressure 
of  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  permitted  himself  to  be 
guided  into  the  dining-room. 

Meanwhile,  James,  leaving  the  house  by  the  area 
door,  had  started  for  the  tobacco  shop  a  block  away 
on  Madison  Avenue. 

The  "  Hornet "  and  Colvin,  seated  on  a  bench  over 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  277 

in  the  Park,  which  while  somewhat  secluded,  yet  af- 
forded a  thorough  view  of  the  Whitefield  premises,  saw 
him  as  he  turned  the  corner,  and  rising,  they  walked 
briskly  out  of  the  Park,  and  up  the  Avenue.  At  a 
point  drectly  opposite  the  house  they  crossed  over  and 
mounted  the  steps.  There  was  such  an  absence  of  any- 
thing furtive  in  either  their  manner  or  their  move- 
ments that  the  two  watchmen  guarding  the  front  of 
the  house  bestowed  upon  them  only  a  perfunctory 
scrutiny,  and  the  fact  that  the  door  opened  almost  im- 
mediately to  them,  as  if  at  the  hand  of  a  ready  servitor, 
helped  also  to  disarm  suspicion. 

The  "  Hornet  "  had  accomplished  this  by  having  the 
key  ready  in  his  hand  and  thrusting  it  straight  into  the 
lock  as  he  reached  the  door,  trusting  to  the  shadow 
of  the  vestibule,  and  to  the  figure  of  Colvin  bulking  just 
behind  him  to  screen  his  strategy.  It  required  then 
but  the  twisting  of  the  latch,  and  the  way  stood  open 
before  them. 

They  entered,  the  "  Hornet  "  closing  the  door  noise- 
lessly, and  stole  on  tiptoe  down  the  hall  to  the  study. 
Inside,  they  paused  a  moment  to  reconnoiter.  Swiftly 
crossing  the  room,  the  "  Hornet,"  the  more  experienced 
of  the  two  at  such  adventures,  peeped  from  behind  a 
corner  of  the  drawn  curtains  at  one  of  the  windows. 
Undisturbed,  the  two  watchmen  along  the  sidewalk 
still  held  their  stolid  vigil. 

Returning  then  to  the  door  which  led  into  the  hall, 
the  "  Hornet "  laid  his  ear  to  it  a  moment,  and  listened. 
The  house  was  quiet.  From  the  dining-room  sounded 
faintly  a  peal  of  Muriel's  laughter.  The  "  Hornet  " 
drew  back. 

"  Coast's  clear,"  he  muttered  curtly.  "  We  ought  to 
have  at  least  an  hour  free  from  interruption." 


278  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Colvin,  who  had  been  standing  rigidly  alert  just  in- 
side the  doorway,  relaxed  his  tense  attitude,  and 
glanced  around  him. 

"  I  never  dreamed  that  it  would  be  so  easy,"  he  said 
wonderingly. 

"  That's  it,"  scowled  the  "  Hornet " ;  "  it's  too  easy. 
What's  that?  "  He  gave  a  quick  start  as  one  of  the 
logs  in  the  fireplace  burned  in  two,  and  fell  with  a 
slight  clatter  to  the  hearth.  "  I'm  as  nervous  as  a  cat. 
If  there  was  any  way  to  put  it  off,  I'd  back  out,  and  go 
home  right  now." 

Colvin  made  no  answer.  It  was  evident  that  none 
was  expected ;  for  by  this  time  the  "  Hornet,"  cross- 
ing over  to  the  safe,  had  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  it, 
and  as  his  fingers  dexterously  turned  the  knob  of  the 
combination,  all  his  faculties  were  centered  on  the  click 
of  the  revolving  tumblers. 

"  Put  this  down,"  he  growled  over  his  shoulder  to 
Colvin  who  stood  behind  him,  ready  with  pencil  and 
paper.  "  Start  at  7,  three  full  turns  to  the  right,  and 
back  to  5,  two  and  a  half  to  the  left,  stop  at  9.  ... 
Lord!  How  I'm  enjoying  this!  "  he  interrupted  him- 
self. "  It's  like  going  back  to  old  times.  If  only  I 
wasn't  so  sure  that  something  is  going  to  happen." 

All  day  long  the  "  Hornet "  had  been  full  of  these 
Cassandra-like  forebodings  and  prophecies  of  evil.  He 
had  shown  it  that  morning  when  he  had  sulked  into 
Ashe's  apartment  to  discuss  the  task,  which  in  view  of 
Hazel  Phillips's  return  of  the  papers  to  Whitefield,  and 
Wimms's  restoration  of  the  sapphires  to  Freda,  must 
be  accomplished  that  evening. 

Leaning  back  in  a  low  chair  with  his  long  legs  swing- 
ing over  the  arm  of  it,  he  moodily  cursed  Hazel  Phillips 
as  the  cause  of  his  misgivings. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  279 

"  She's  the  '  ace  in  the  hole  '  that  keeps  me  guessing," 
he  muttered.  "  Ever  since  she  came  into  the  picture, 
my  luck  has  turned.  I  spilled  my  salt  all  over  the  ta- 
blecloth the  morning  I  went  after  her,  and  with  me 
that  never  fails  as  a  sign  of  disaster." 

Colvin  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  The  "  Hornet  " 
was  such  a  born  organizer,  so  resourceful  in  the  face 
of  almost  any  difficulty,  that  to  find  him  now  balking 
at  shadows  and  giving  way  to  superstitious  fancies 
seemed  incongruous,  out  of  character.  He  raised  his 
eyes  a  little  as  he  regarded  his  despondent  companion. 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  argued,  "  aren't  you 
rather  overestimating  the  complication?  Miss  Phil- 
lips, being  human,  is  limited  to  a  certain  number  of 
circumscribed  moves.  The  most  important  of  these, 
and  the  one  upon  which  all  the  others  hang,  you  have 
yourself  dictated,  and  can  therefore  in  a  measure  dis- 
count. She  is  either  going  to  play  square  with  you,  or 
she  is  not.  And  since  she  has  given  every  evidence  of 
going  straight  so  far,  I  can  personally  see  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  continue  to  do  so." 

The  "Hornet"  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh, 
Hazel  will  keep  her  word  to  me  to  the  letter,"  he  said. 
"  Those  papers  will  be  returned  to  Whitefield  at  ex- 
actly half -past  six  to-night  just  as  she  has  promised. 
It  is  what  she  may  do  afterward  that  is  bothering  me. 

"  However,"  he  swung  his  legs  back  over  the  side  of 
the  chair,  and  sat  up  straight  as  if  reaching  a  decision, 
"  there  seems  no  way  to  avoid  it.  We  have  simply  got 
to  go  ahead,  and  trust  to  her  good  intentions.  It  is 
the  risk  one  takes.  Whether  we  walk  into  a  trap  or 
not,  those  papers  must  be  recovered  to-night,  and  we've 
got  to  go  after  them,  too,  the  minute  that  she  leaves  the. 
house," 


28o  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  At  half-past  six  in  the  evening!  "  Colvin  stared 
at  him.  He  had  known  in  a  general  way  that  it  was 
the  "  Hornet's  "  plan  to  get  the  papers  by  breaking  into 
his  uncle's  safe  again,  but  had  supposed  that,  as  before, 
this  would  be  accomplished  at  a  midnight  visit. 
"  With  the  servants  all  about  ?  With  every  one  at 
home,  and  the  lights  on?  With  those  guards  outside? 
It  cannot  be  done." 

"  Ah,  that  is  where  my  little  cousin  must  make  her- 
self useful,"  rejoined  the  "  Hornet."  "  Uncle  William 
must  not  have  an  uninterrupted  moment  to  destroy 
those  papers." 

"Muriel?" 

The  "  Hornet "  misunderstood  the  nature  of  the 
quick  protest.  "  I  know,"  he  grumbled.  "  It's  an- 
other woman  to  depend  on.  But  in  this  case  it  can't  be 
helped." 

Colvin  twitched  his  shoulders  restlessly.  "  Is  — 
is  that  absolutely  necessary?  "  he  asked.  "  Isn't  there 
some  other  way,  so  that  she  need  not  be  involved?" 

The  "  Hornet "  comprehended  now,  and  in  the 
glance  he  gave  Colvin  there  was  a  touch  of  humorous 
mockery. 

"  There  might  be,"  he  said,  "  if  it  wasn't  for  Muriel 
herself.  She's  so  eager  to  be  involved,  that  I  think 
if  we  were  to  try  anything  else  now,  she'd  be  very  apt 
to  dump  the  apple-cart." 

"  She  knows,  then?  "  asked  Colvin  sharply. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  she  knows.  That  is,  she  understands 
what  is  to  be  done,  and  to  some  extent  the  part  that  she 
is  expected  to  play.  The  final  details  are  still  to  be  ar- 
ranged, though;  it  was  a  telephone  conversation  I  had 
with  her,  and  naturally  we  had  to  speak  guardedly. 
So  I've  made  an  appointment  with  her  to  meet  us  at 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  281 

tea  at  the  Waldorf  this  afternoon,  and  get  her  instruc- 
tions. 

"  Now,  now !  "  He  gave  an  impatient  wave  of  the 
hand  as  Ashe  started  to  expostulate.  "  This  is  no  time 
to  be  raising  Chesterfieldian  objections.  Muriel's  an 
indispensable  cog  in  our  machinery,  and  she  has  to  be 
used.  Furthermore,  as  I  tell  you,  she  intends  to  be 
used.  You  forget  that  she  has  as  much  of  an  interest 
in  the  success  of  this  thing  as  you  or  I ;  her  own  little 
individual  mess  of  fish  to  fry  with  Uncle  William." 

There  was  nothing  left  for  Colvin  to  say.  He  real- 
ized, better  than  the  "  Hornet "  could  tell  him,  the 
utter  futility  of  attempting  to  curb  or  divert  Muriel, 
now  that  she  knew  of  the  nature  of  their  scheme.  The 
rude  justice  of  it,  the  touch  of  daring  and  adventure, 
the  opportunity  it  offered  to  score  against  her  uncle, 
all  made  it  an  enterprise  which  exactly  appealed  to  her. 

He  still  tried  to  plead  various  alternatives,  but  the 
"  Hornet  "  paid  little  heed  to  these  remonstrances,  and 
went  ahead  with  an  outline  of  his  programme. 

"  She  will  be  at  the  Waldorf  between  half-past  four 
and  five,"  he  said,  "  ostensibly  to  take  tea  with  you. 
Then,  of  course,  if  I  should  come  sauntering  through 
the  rooms,  there  would  be  nothing  strange  in  my  stop- 
ping to  speak  to  her  —  her  uncle  introduced  us,  re- 
member —  and  taking  a  seat  at  your  table.  That  is  the 
arrangement  we  have  made.  However,  I  suppose  I 
had  better  call  her  up,  and  make  sure  that  she  will  be 
there." 

He  caught  up  the  telephone  as  he  spoke,  and  securing 
connection  with  the  Whitefield  house,  asked  for  Muriel. 

"  Is  this  Miss  Fletcher?  "  His  harsh  voice  softened 
to  urbanity.  "  Yes ;  it  is  Prentice  talking,  although 
only  as  a  proxy.  Vernon  is  so  immersed  in  business 


282  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

this  morning  that  he  has  deputed  me  to  remind  you  of 
your  engagement  to  take  tea  this  afternoon,  and  I  have 
undertaken  the  duty  rather  eagerly,  because  I  am  look- 
ing forward  to  joining  you  myself  before  your  first 
cup  is  finished —  Ah,  that  is  very  nice  of  you  — 
Then  I  may  relieve  Vernon's  mind,  and  tell  him  that 
you  will  be  there  without  fail  ?  —  Yes ;  the  Waldorf, 
at  a  little  before  five  —  Thank  you.  Good-by." 

He  sat  down  the  instrument,  and  came  back  to  his 
chair.  "Well,  that's  settled,  and  off  my  mind,"  he 
said. 

Colvin  smiled  unhappily.  "  But  not  off  mine,"  was 
his  unspoken  thought.  This  would  be  the  first  time 
that  he  and  Muriel  had  met  since  that  afternoon  in  the 
Park  the  day  following  the  dance,  and  with  no  word, 
nor  even  a  sight  of  her  in  the  meantime,  he  was  uncer- 
tain as  to  her  attitude.  At  a  dinner  with  other  people 
present,  it  would  have  been  less  difficult  to  encounter 
her  without  a  chance  of  awkwardness.  But  tea  a  deux 
is  not  hedged  about  with  the  protecting  formalities 
of  dinner.  One  changes  one's  clothes  for  dinner,  and 
to  a  great  extent  one's  face  and  one's  manners,  too. 
But  one  drops  in  to  tea,  not  having  entirely  abandoned 
the  cares  of  the  day,  and  makes  of  it  an  intimate  hour, 
a  sort  of  half-way  house  on  the  road  to  the  ultimate 
relaxation  of  the  night. 

Ashe's  trepidation  increased  as  the  day  wore  on. 
He  longed,  and  yet  dreaded  to  see  her  again.  He  was 
early  at  the  Waldorf,  arriving  at  scarcely  more  than 
half -past  four,  and  wandered  restlessly  up  and  down 
its  crowded  corridors,  and  in  and  out  of  the  reading 
rooms,  while  he  waited  for  her. 

At  last  she  came  —  by  way  of  the  Thirty-fourth 
Street  entrance,  as  she  had  been  directed  —  and  look- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  283 

ing  so  darkly,  richly  beautiful,  so  aloof  and  remote, 
her  greeting  so  courteously,  indifferently  distant,  that 
to  Colvin  it  seemed  as  if  both  his  courage  and  his 
spirits  had  reached  their  final  ebb. 

As  they  took  their  way  to  the  tea  room,  and  were 
shown  to  a  table,  he  began  to  realize  even  more  acutely 
the  disadvantage  of  his  position.  His  intuitions, 
rapier-keen  where  she  was  concerned,  pierced  the  cloak 
of  suave  smiles  and  light  commonplaces  she  had  chosen 
to  assume,  and  divined  that  underneath  lay  all  the 
proud,  resentful  forces  of  her  nature,  bent  on  resisting 
him  and  repudiating  his  influence.  It  stirred  a  coun- 
ter-feeling on  his  part,  a  passionate  impulse  to  assert 
that  influence,  to  take  her  by  storm,  and  win  her  in 
spite  of  herself,  but  he  was  incapable  of  such  a  step. 
His  life's  experiences,  reacting  upon  a  nature  grown 
almost  abnormally  sensitive,  served  to  check  and  ham- 
per him. 

And  Muriel  on  her  side  was  merciless,  how  merciless 
she  was  too  young  to  know.  Her  youth,  her  beauty, 
her  cleverness,  she  flaunted  before  him  as  barriers  be- 
hind which  she  was  impregnably  entrenched. 

When  Colvin  turned  to  her  after  giving  the  waiter 
their  order,  she  flashed  a  brief,  surface  smile  upon 
him,  a  smile  of  the  lips  only,  no  deeper. 

"This  is  a  business  meeting,  is  it  not?"  she  said. 
"  At  least,  that  is  what  I  understood  from  my  cousin. 
Is  it  very  important?  " 

"  It  is  far  more  important  that  you  should  not 
be  drawn  into  this  thing."  He  leaned  toward  her 
and  spoke  urgently,  quickly.  "  There  is  no  reason  for 
it.  No.  matter  whether  Hempstead  considers  your 
aid  necessary  to  us,  or  not,  I  am  unwilling  to  be- 
lieve-^" 


284  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Oh,  if  Fletcher  thinks  me  necessary,  that  settles  it," 
she  interrupted  with  a  little  nod  of  finality.  "  Since  our 
interests  are  practically  the  same,  I  have  decided  to 
follow  his  lead  absolutely  in  the  matter.  Uncle  Wil- 
liam thinks  most  highly  of  his  ability  as  a  business 
man,  you  know."  She  laughed  with  a  piquant  ap- 
preciation of  the  satiric  humor  of  the  situation.  Then, 
as  she  glanced  across  the  room,  she  broke  off,  and 
added  quickly  under  her  breath :  "  Here  he  comes 
now." 

Colvin  turned  his  head,  and  meeting  the  "  Hornet's  " 
eyes,  bowed.  Muriel  smiled  at  him,  and  "  Mr.  Pren- 
tice "  threaded  his  way  through  the  tables  to  speak  to 
them. 

"  Have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us?  "  Muriel  asked. 

"  Yes ;  do  join  us,"  Colvin  seconded  the  invitation, 
although  with  no  great  degree  of  cordiality. 

The  "  Hornet "  pretended  to  demur  a  moment,  then 
smilingly  accepted.  The  waiter  brought  another  chair, 
and  took  the  additional  order.  When  it  had  been  filled, 
and  the  man  was  about  to  step  back,  the  "  Hornet " 
stayed  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Look  here,  waiter,"  he  said,  raising  his  peculiarly 
piercing  and  commanding  eyes.  "  You've  served  us 
now.  If  we  want  anything  more,  we'll  summon  you. 
Otherwise,  please  keep  your  distance.  I  have  a  regret- 
table distaste  for  having  some  one  breathe  down  my 
neck,  or  whisk  food  from  before  me,  when  I  want  to 
talk."  He  slipped  a  substantial  tip  into  the  waiter's 
hand,  and  the  latter,  used  to  the  vagaries  of  patrons, 
accepted  both  the  hint  and  the  gratuity  with  thanks, 
and  retired  well  out  of  earshot. 

"  Now,"  said  the  "  Hornet,"  speaking  with  author- 
ity, "  the  way  I  see  the  matter  is  this.  The  entire  ac- 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  285 

tion  of  this  sketch  will  take  place  between  six  and  half- 
past  seven  o'clock  this  evening.  During  that  time,  Ver- 
non  and  I  must  enter  the  house  and  secure  the  papers 
which  will  have  been  returned  to  Uncle  William  and 
also  the  sapphires  which  Aunt  Freda  will  fondly  be- 
lieve are  again  safe  in  her  hands.  We  must  decide  now 
how  we  are  to  get  into  the  house.  Muriel,  have  you  a 
key  to  the  hall  door?  I  thought  not,"  as  she  shook  her 
head.  "  Then  you  must  get  one." 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  me  to  get  the  Roc's  egg," 
she  exclaimed. 

He  twisted  his  head  impatiently.  "  Has  Freda 
one?" 

"  Of  course ;  but  — "  She  hesitated ;  then  her  face 
brightened.  "  Oh,  I  know !  Everett  Babcock." 

"  Good."  The  "  Hornet  "  nodded.  "  Get  it  at  any 
hazard."  He  leaned  forward,  and  tapped  her  on  the 
hand.  "  The  success  of  this  undertaking  depends  upon 
you.  Get  that  key  from  Babcock  by  six  o'clock  this 
evening.  At  a  quarter  after  six,  go  out  to  post  a  letter, 
and  as  you  are  doing  so,  drop  the  key  on  the  sidewalk 
by  the  post  box.  Then  return  to  the  house  and  wait 
until  you  see  a  woman  shown  into  Uncle's  study.  She 
will  be  there  at  exactly  half-past  six,  and  will  probably 
remain  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  The  moment  she  leaves, 
you  must  get  Uncle  William  immediately  out  of  the 
room  on  one  pretext  or  another,  and  keep  him  out,  too." 

"  I  can  do  that,"  she  agreed,  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "  I'll  smash  something  in  his  Bohemian  glass 
collection,  and  that  will  keep  him  busy  until  dinner  is 
served." 

"That's  a  Whitefield  touch  for  you.  Blood  will 
tell,"  grinned  the  "  Hornet."  "  I  guess  we're  safe  in 
leaving  you  to  work  out  the  details  in  your  own  way. 


286  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Only  remember !  I  must  have  that  key  to  the  house  at 
a  quarter  after  six  o'clock." 

"  I'll  not  fail  you,"  she  said  confidently,  rising  as 
the  "  Hornet"  did;  but  before  she  could  say  good-by. 
Colvin,  who  had  remained  silent,  spoke. 

"  Miss  Fletcher,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  give  me 
just  two  minutes.  It  shall,"  with  a  faint  smile,  "  be  by 
the  clock  if  you  say  so." 

Although  the  words  were  in  the  form  of  a  request, 
the  spirit  of  them  was  almost  a  command,  and  there 
was  something  so  determined  in  his  expression,  that 
after  the  briefest  hesitation,  she  haughtily  and  reluc- 
tantly resumed  her  seat.  Her  gaze,  withdrawn  from 
Colvin,  followed  the  vanishing  figure  of  the  "  Hornet  " 
in  his  progress  down  the  room. 

"  I  know  that  I  have  only  time  for  a  word,"  Ashe's 
voice  \vas  low  and  controlled,  "  and  I  am  not  going  to 
waste  that  time  in  protesting  further  at  your  taking 
part  in  this  business  of  to-night.  But,  Muriel,  I  can't 
leave  you  with  this  misunderstanding  between  us.  I 
have  written  many  letters  to  you,  and  have  torn  them 
all  up."  His  speech  was  broken,  and  yet  resolute. 
"  You  know  that  I  love  you  —  how  deeply,  you  can 
never  know.  That  night  at  the  dance  —  How  could 
I  accept  what  was  so  rashly  and  generously  offered  in 
a  moment  of  beautiful  impulse?  —  I,  who  had  worse 
than  nothing?  That  afternoon  in  the  Park  I  could 
offer  you  at  least  protection  and  a  refuge  from  danger, 
when  it  seemed  to  me  you  needed  them.  You  refused. 
Now  I  am  throwing  myself  on  your  mercy.  If  we  are 
successful  to-night,  and  if  I  may  really  stand  clear  once 
more  before  the  world,  will  you  help  me  to  build  up  a 
future?  I  could  not  do  it  myself.  Alone,  I  lack  the 
courage,  the  will,  even  the  desire  to  do  so.  But  with 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  287 

you  I  shall  have  all  things,  all  courage,  all  faith,  all 
determination  to  succeed.  Will  you  help  me  try  and 
make  a  cornerstone  of  what  the  builders  rejected? 
Muriel!  Will  you?" 

A  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  her  face.  "  It  is 
not  fair  to  ask  me  that  question  now,"  she  cried  in  a 
trembling  voice.  "  There  is  still  so  much  to  be  thought 
of,  so  much  to  do  —  Oh,  I  must  go !  "  she  started  up 
from  her  chair.  "  I  need  all  my  wits  about  me.  We 
dare  not  risk  a  failure." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

As  the  hands  of  the  clock  pointed  to  half-past  five 
that  evening,  Everett  Babcock  was  still  toiling  over  the 
composition  of  a  business  letter  which  Mr.  Whitefield 
had  instructed  him  must  be  a  model  of  diplomatic 
phrasing  —  the  iron  word  in  the  velvet  expression,  so 
to  speak. 

Everett  was  conscientious  and  efficient,  but  not  bril- 
liant. Therefore,  he  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  own 
little  den  across  the  hall  from  his  employer's  study, 
where  the  rattle  of  his  typewriter  would  not  disturb 
the  great  man's  meditations,  and  had  lost  himself  in 
the  construction  of  his  masterpiece. 

He  was  so  engrossed  in  fact,  that  he  remained  for 
some  time  quite  oblivious  of  a  gentle,  but  persistent 
knocking  at  his  door,  and  when  he  did  finally  awake  to 
the  realization  that  some  one  was  there,  it  was  at  the 
moment  when  the  patience  of  the  person  outside  had 
given  way.  The  knob  was  vigorously  turned,  the  door 
opened,  and  Muriel  entered. 

Babcock,  his  mind  still  on  his  work,  looked  at  her 
in  a  sort  of  dazed  surprise,  as  if  he  half-doubted  the 
evidence  of  his  senses.  Muriel  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  seeking  his  companionship  —  quite  the  reverse  — 
and  never  before  had  he  been  honored  by  a  visit  from 
her. 

She  closed  the  door  quickly  behind  her,  and  stood 
leaning  against  it,  a  dazzling  and  propitiating  vision 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  289 

in  her  scarlet  dinner  gown  with  a  mist  of  gold  over  it, 
and  with  a  long  velvet  and  fur  coat  thrown  over  one 
arm. 

"  Don't  get  up,"  she  protested  as  Everett  arose, 
and  then  walking  over  toward  him,  coolly  seated  her- 
self in  the  one  other  chair  the  room  contained,  and 
selected  a  cigarette  from  the  open  box  on  his  type- 
writer table. 

There  had  never  been  any  comradeship  between 
these  two.  Everett  was  the  exemplary  son  of  a  wid- 
owed mother  —  one  of  those  reduced,  diplomatic,  and 
ever-climbing  matrons  who  are  adepts  in  putting  a 
social  best  foot  forward.  In  securing  Everett  the 
position  of  private  secretary  to  the  great  Whitefield, 
she  had  almost  reached  the  limit  of  her  present  ambi- 
tions for  him;  but  still  nourished  roseate  dreams  of 
the  union  of  her  incomparable  son  and  the  beautiful 
heiress.  But,  although  Everett  had  at  first  shared 
her  hopes,  his  faith  in  their  ultimate  realization  had 
steadily  dwindled.  Muriel  had  a  most  disconcerting 
way  of  seeming  unaware  of  the  existence  of  those  who 
failed  to  interest  her,  and  her  treatment  of  Everett 
had  always  been  particularly  cavalier.  Her  present  air 
of  intimate  friendliness,  therefore,  completely  disar- 
ranged his  tidy,  card-index  mind,  and  threw  it  into 
hopeless  confusion. 

"  I  got  ready  for  dinner  early,"  she  said  sweetly ; 
"  so  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  talk  to  you." 

Everett  remembered  with  a  thrill  that  especial  effi- 
cacy is  attributed  to  the  prayers  of  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless,  and  Muriel's  words  were  to  his  reviving 
hopes  what  water  is  to  a  thirsty  flower. 

"  I  am  going  out  this  evening,"  she  was  almost  ten- 
derly confidential,  "  and  I  may  be  quite  shockingly 


290  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

late ;  so  do  be  a  good  fellow,  Everett,  and  lend  me  your 
key  to  the  hall  door." 

She  smiled  alluringly  at  him  as  she  made  her  re- 
quest. Everett  found  her  unwonted  softness  of  look 
and  speech  heady;  but  he  was  shrewd.  His  impulse 
was  to  yield  at  once,  and  hand  her  over  the  latchkey. 
But  a  moment's  thought  convinced  him  that  by  grant- 
ing her  this  favor,  he  might  be  losing  more  than  he 
would  gain.  She  would  hardly  be  going  out  to  remain 
until  a  late  hour  alone,  and  he  might  thus  be  the  means 
of  throwing  her  into  the  society  of  a  dangerous  rival. 
Also,  in  case  her  uncle  should  discover  his  connivance, 
he  would  certainly  lose  his  enviable  position. 

He  let  the  key  which  he  had  half -drawn  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket  drop  back  again,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  I'd  like  to,"  he  said  with  unfeigned  sincerity. 
"  Nothing  would  please  me  better.  But  it's  too  much 
of  a  risk.  It  would  be  worth  my  job,  if  Mr.  White- 
field  should  find  it  out." 

She  pouted  bewitchingly.  "  He'll  not,"  she  in- 
sisted. "  Oh,  come,  Everett ;  do  be  a  sport  for  once. 
I  promise  you  that  I  will  be  the  soul  of  discretion. 
The  key  shall  be  back  in  your  hands  the  first  thing 
to-morrow  morning,  and  Uncle  William  will  never 
know  the  difference.  But  I  —  ! "  Her  eyes  held 
sweet  promises,  her  voice  besought  him  —  "I  shall 
never  forget  it !  " 

His  inherent  caution  and  timidity  were  all  that 
saved  him  now.  He  still  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  are  so  vicious  to  me,  Ev- 
erett ?  "  Was  that  small,  plaintive,  almost  tearful  voice 
Muriel's?  "Of  course,  it  is  only  natural  that  you 
should  range  yourself  with  Uncle  William.  He's  your 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  291 

bread  and  butter.  But  you  and  I  might  be  perfectly 
good  pals,  if  you  only  would." 

Everett's  pale  eyes  glowed.  "  You've  never  given 
me  half  a  chance,"  he  complained. 

"  Well,  I'm  doing  it  now,"  she  fluttered  her  lashes 
at  him,  her  narrow  eyes  gleaming  through  them. 
"  Everett,  please  lend  me  that  key." 

Some  faint  throb  of  sporting  blood  stirred  young 
Babcock's  even  pulses. 

"  I'll  take  a  chance,"  he  bargained  with  a  little,  un- 
steady laugh ;  "  but  I've  got  to  have  payment  in  ad- 
vance." He  went  on  breathlessly,  overwhelmed  by  his 
own  temerity,  the  color  burned  in  his  cheek.  "  —  I 
will  trade  the  key  for  a  kiss." 

"  Everett ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  held  her  hands  be- 
fore her  face.  "  But  I've  got  to  have  the  key."  She 
was  enchantingly  appealing.  "  And  after  all,  a 
kiss  —  " 

Exalted  visions  flamed  before  his  eyes.  Youth  and 
ardor  asserted  their  ascendency.  His  insufficient  sup- 
ply of  red  blood,  stimulated  by  her  apparent  surren- 
der, proved  strong  enough  to  rout  the  cautious  white 
corpuscles.  He  sprang  up,  and  came  toward  her  with 
extended  arms. 

But  she,  too,  had  risen,  and  now  she  shrank 
back,  laughing,  the  palms  of  her  hands  against  his 
chest. 

"  No !  No !  "  she  cried.  "  Wait  a  moment.  You 
are  so  impetuous,  so  masterful,  Everett,  that  you  make 
me  afraid  of  you.  You  are  a  regular  cave  man. 
You'd  take  me  by  storm,  and  before  I  knew  it,  you'd 
be  getting  a  dozen  kisses. 

"  No,"  she  insisted,  as  he  caught  her  arms  and 
pressed  nearer,  "  I  only  agreed  to  one  kiss,  and  I'll 


292  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

give  it  in  my  own  way.     You  go  and  sit  down  where 
you  were." 

"  I'll  do  anything  you  say  for  that  kiss."  He  spoke 
huskily. 

"  Then  sit  down  there,"  she  commanded,  pointing 
to  his  chair.  "  I'm  afraid  of  you,  Everett,  so  I'm 
going  to  tie  you  up."  Flushed,  laughing,  she  began 
to  unwind  a  silk  sash  from  about  her  waist. 

It  all  seemed  part  of  an  amusing,  fascinating  game. 
That  was  the  spirit  which  Muriel  threw  into  it.  So 
he  obeyed  her. 

"  I'll  sit  down  to  please  you,  but  no  tying  up,"  he 
laughed.  "  It  would  be  just  like  you  to  leave  me  that 
way." 

"  I  am  no  highwaywoman,"  she  returned.  "You 
know  I  always  play  fair.  You'll  get  your  kiss,  but  I 
simply  will  not  be  grabbed." 

"All  right,  then."  Still  laughing,  he  fell  in  with 
her  mood. 

Deftly  she  threw  the  scarf  over  his  shoulders  and 
slipped  it  down  his  arms,  binding  him  fast  to  the  chair. 

"  There !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  dear,  I've  laughed  so 
much  that  the  tears  are  running  down  my  cheeks. 
Wait  until  I  get  my  handkerchief;  it's  in  the  pocket  of 
my  coat." 

She  moved  across  the  room,  caught  up  her  velvet 
cloak,  and  then  stood  behind  him  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Where's  my  kiss  ?  "  he  demanded. 

As  he  asked  the  question,  she  swiftly  slipped  between 
his  parted  lips  a  gag  which  she  had  prepared  in  ad- 
vance, and  tied  it  securely  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

He  made  an  inarticulate  effort  to  cry  out,  twisted 
his  head  about  and  plunged  in  his  chair;  but  the  scarf 
held  him  fast. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  293 

Muriel  stood  back  from  him,  breathing  rapidly,  and 
glanced  down  at  the  watch  on  her  wrist.  She  had  no 
time  to  lose.  But  now  she  saw  that  there  was  still 
something  to  be  done.  Everett  was  beating  a  regular 
Devil's  tattoo  on  the  floor  with  his  heels,  and  she  feared 
that  it  might  attract  attention.  She  looked  hastily 
about  her,  and  then  tore  loose  the  cords  which  held 
back  the  heavy  silk  curtains  at  the  window,  and  with 
them  bound  his  ankles  to  the  legs  of  the  chair. 

She  stood  up  and  surveyed  him,  making  sure  that 
her  task  was  complete.  Then  she  laughed  into  his 
accusing,  furious  eyes. 

"  Cheer  up,  Everett,"  she  said ;  and  leaning  over, 
touched  him  lightly  with  her  lips  on  his  brow. 
"  There's  your  kiss.  I  always  keep  my  promises. 
Try  and  be  patient.  I  won't  leave  you  this  way  more 
than  an  hour." 

As  she  spoke,  she  reached  down  and  took  the  key 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Then,  throwing  her  cloak 
about  her,  she  turned  off  the  lights,  and  left  the  room, 
locking  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN  hour  later,  as  Muriel  took  her  seat  opposite 
Whitefield  at  the  dinner  table,  she  had  with  apparent 
insouciance  dismissed  all  disturbing  mental  pictures  of 
the  poor  secretary  who  had  trusted  her,  struggling  in 
the  darkness  to  free  himself  from  her  silken  bonds, 
and  also  of  the  unsurpassed  cracksman  whose  precise 
and  exquisite  manipulations  were  at  the  moment  men- 
acing the  invulnerability  of  her  uncle's  safe. 

Dempsey  presented  a  tray.  "  The  cigarettes  you 
sent  James  for,  Miss  Muriel.'* 

Whitefield  shook  his  head  at  the  sight  of  them,  but 
benevolently.  Muriel  laughed  back  at  him,  deviltry 
in  her  olive  eyes. 

"James  is  on  the  door  again,  Uncle,"  she  mocked. 
"  Wicked  burglars  can't  break  in  now  to  steal  our  beau- 
tiful family  skeleton." 

He  drank  his  Scotch  whiskey  and  soda,  and  looked 
at  her  appreciatively. 

"  May  I  venture  to  remark  that  3rou  are  looking  very 
beautiful  to-night?  Is  that  a  new  frock?  " 

"  Yes.  I  am  going  on  to  a  play  after  dinner,"  she 
accepted  the  compliment  smilingly.  "  But  about  that 
matter  of  importance  I  wanted  to  discuss  with  you?" 

"  Matter  of  importance,  eh  ?  Well,"  he  was  still 
jovial,  "  you've  certainly  chosen  your  time  wisely. 
I'll  probably  give  you  anything  you  ask  for  this  eve- 
ning, even  to  the  half  of  my  kingdom." 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  295 

"I  may  ask  it,"  she  replied;  "or  a  quarter  of  it, 
anyway." 

Whitefield  chuckled. 

"  The  half  of  my  kingdom  isn't  worth  much  to- 
night, my  dear,"  he  said.  "  This  is  pay-day,  you  must 
understand,  and  it's  little  they've  left  me  but  my  bare 
bones." 

Muriel  took  a  sip  of  wine. 

"Settling  all  your  debts,  Uncle?     That's  good." 

There  was  a  hint  of  significance  in  her  tone  — 
whether  he  fancied  it,  or  not  —  which  made  him 
vaguely  uneasy.  He  applied  himself  to  his  soup,  won- 
dering what  she  might  be  up  to.  As  the  plates  were 
removed,  though,  she  spoke  again  so  frankly  that  he 
decided  he  was  unnecessarily  suspicious. 

"  It  isn't  much  use  to  try  to  do  any  talking  while 
the  servants  are  in  the  room,  is  it?  "  she  said.  "  One 
has  to  break  off  every  time  anything  is  served.  I 
think  I  will  postpone  my  important  '  something '  — 
the  matter  I  wish  to  discuss  with  you  —  until  we  reach 
the  coffee." 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  so  sensible,"  he  re- 
turned. "  The  dinner  table  is  the  last  place  on  earth 
for  a  family  conference,  anyhow.  Nothing  is  so  up- 
setting to  the  digestion.  I  and  my  appetite  both  thank 
you  for  the  respite,  my  dear.  For  women  have  enough 
respect  for  their  food  to  put  off  any  kind  of  a  discus- 
sion or  wrangle." 

So,  with  that,  they  turned  to  indifferent  topics,  until 
presently  Whitefield  happened  to  ask  her  what  play 
she  was  planning  to  see  that  evening. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  Muriel  answered.  "  I  just 
accepted  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Vansittart  and  Miss 
Gansevoort  to  be  one  of  their  party." 


296  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Whitefield  raised  his  bushy  brows  in  sudden  enlight- 
enment; but  mindful  of  their  compact  to  avoid  per- 
sonal issues  until  after  dinner  was  over,  repressed  the 
obvious  comment,  and  contented  himself  with  remark- 
ing: 

"  Martina  carries  her  years  very  well,  while  Estelle 
chucks  hers." 

"  I  wonder  which  is  the  wiser  course  ?  "  Muriel  in- 
quired laughingly.  "  I'll  be  old  myself  some  day,  so 
I  want  to  know.  It's  one  of  those  questions  on  which 
one  needs  masculine  advice,  not  feminine." 

"  It's  a  question  you  needn't  bother  about  for  many 
years  yet."  He  looked  at  her  with  the  grudging  ad- 
miration which  her  rich  and  glowing  beauty  always 
evoked  in  him. 

She  smiled  at  him,  that  radiant,  brilliant  smile  which 
obliterated  all  those  traces  of  sullenness  and  secretive- 
ness  which  her  mouth  held  in  repose;  and  again  he 
caught  intuitively  that  disquieting  warning  of  break- 
ers ahead. 

"  She's  up  to  some  trickery  as  sure  as  I'm 
alive,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I'll  lie  low,  and  see 
what." 

"  It's  a  pity,  Muriel,  that  you  and  I  have  never  hit 
it  off,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Case  of  too  much  Whitefield 
in  both  of  us,  I  guess.  My  private  opinion  is  that 
3'ou'll  come  a  big  smash  sooner  or  later.  You're  so 
utterly  wilful,  and  headstrong,  and  inexperienced.  But 
if  you  can  only  manage  to  keep  your  balance,  there's 
a  big  place  in  the  world  for  you.  You  have  the  air 
of  splendor  even  at  nineteen;  at  thirty,  you  will  be 
magnificent.  You  can  be  a  great  social  power  if  you 
choose,  a  big  factor  in  some  man's  career." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that  ? "     Her  attitude,  the 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  297 

sparkle  in  her  eye  showed  her  interest  in  his  answer. 
"  How  about  politics  ?  " 

"  The  very  thing  for  you.  I'll  see  that  you  meet 
all  the  promising  young  politicians,  and  you  can  take 
your  pick." 

"And  who  are  they?"  Her  interest  was  un- 
abated. 

"  I  will  have  Babcock  make  you  out  a  list,  with  all 
their  past  performances  and  prospects,  complete  dope 
on  each  one  of  them,"  he  laughed.  "  By  the  way,  I 
wonder  if  he  has  come  in  yet?"  He  half  rose  from 
the  table.  "  I  have  something  I  want  him  to  do  this 
evening,  and  he  might  as  well  be  about  it.  There's 
no  use  in  his  loafing  in  the  library,  reading  the  eve- 
ning papers." 

"  Oh,  let  him  read  in  peace,"  she  pleaded.  "  You 
promised  to  give  a  few  minutes  to  my  important  af- 
fairs." She  took  up  a  cigarette  and  lighted  it. 

Whitefield  settled  down  in  his  chair  once  more. 
"  Well,  what  is  your  important  matter?  " 

"  Uncle  William,  I'm  leaving  here  to-night.  I 
shan't  be  back  after  the  play." 

There  was  a  sharp  flash  in  his  eyes.  He  thrust  out 
his  lower  lip,  and  ran  his  scales  on  the  tablecloth. 

"Does  that  mean  Vernon?"  he  demanded.  "An 
elopement?  Or  is  it  a  wedding  at  Martina  Van- 
sittart's?" 

"  If  it  were,  you  couldn't  sue  for  abduction,"  she 
parried.  "  I'm  nineteen." 

"  Yes ;  but  you  are  not  twenty-one.  I  could  go  to 
the  courts,  and  as  your  guardian  —  " 

"  Nonsense ! "  she  said.  "  We  will  cross  that 
bridge  when  we  come  to  it.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  now 
about  my  property." 


298  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  Oh,  that  old  subject  again."     He  stood  up. 

"  No.     One  minute.     I'm  not  going  to  bother  you." 

"  I'll  give  you  half  an  hour,  or  an  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, Muriel." 

"  But  just  a  moment!  "  Muriel  had  risen  also,  and 
was  nervously  crushing  her  cigarette  in  the  ash-tray 
before  her. 

Whitefield  looked  at  her  fixedly.  No  smallest  evi- 
dence of  excitement  or  apprehension  escaped  him. 
She  bore  his  scrutiny  like  a  soldier,  haughtily,  indif- 
ferently, with  her  head  up.  And  yet  her  agitation 
was  unconcealable. 

Why  was  she  agitated?  Why  was  she  so  anxious 
to  keep  him  at  the  table?  Why,  when  he  had  spoken 
of  sending  Babcock  to  the  study,  had  she  diverted  his 
attention?  His  mind  leaped  to  a  swift  conclusion. 

He  rang  the  bell.  "  Dempsey,"  he  said,  when  the 
butler  appeared.  "  I'm  going  to  my  study.  If  I  ring, 
you  are  to  come  at  once  with  one  or  two  of  the  other 
men." 

Then  as  Dempsey  bowed  and  disappeared,  he  said 
to  Muriel :  "  Now,  we'll  see  what  you  have  been  up 
to." 

He  preceded  her  out  of  the  room  and  down  the 
hall.  There  he  stopped  before  a  table,  and  opening 
a  drawer  in  it,  took  out  an  automatic  pistol.  She  was 
just  behind  him  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the 
door  leading  into  the  study.  He  heard  her  quick 
breathing  over  his  shoulder.  Heedless  of  her,  he 
flung  open  the  door,  and  entered. 

There  was  a  quick  movement  from  the  two  men  who 
were  in  the  room.  The  lights  were  on,  the  curtains 
drawn. 

Whitefield  whipped  out  an  oath,  and  levelled  his 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  299 

revolver  straight  at  the  "  Hornet,"  who  with  his  back 
to  him,  was  just  removing  the  Colvin  papers  from 
the  safe.  Then,  his  eye  turned  to  Ashe,  who  sat  on 
the  arm  of  a  chair,  watching  the  "  Hornet's  "  marvel- 
lous manipulations. 

"  Caught  at  last,  Vernon ! "  His  vindictive  sneer 
was  like  a  shout  of  triumph. 

The  "  Hornet "  closed  the  door  of  the  safe,  gave  a 
final  dexterous  twirl  to  the  combination,  and  turn- 
ing, faced  his  uncle. 

"  Prentice  ?  "  The  pistol  wavered  in  Whitefield's 
grasp.  He  took  a  step  or  two  into  the  room,  threw 
the  weapon  on  a  table  beside  him  with  a  little  clatter, 
and  sat  down  suddenly.  "  Prentice !  Well !  What 
the  deuce  does  this  mean,  man?  Why,  you  stood  to 
make  millions  with  me  behind  you.  Have  you  gone 
crazy  —  throwing  such  chances  away  to  rob  a  safe  ?  " 

"  I'm  throwing  away  nothing,"  replied  the  "  Hor- 
net." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  those  papers  ?  "  demanded 
Whitefield.  "  Are  you  one  of  the  '  Hornet's  '  gang?  " 
His  heavy  brows  were  almost  drawn  together.  There 
was  a  deep,  vertical  line  between  them.  A  puzzle,  in- 
credible and  unsolvable  on  any  basis,  confronted  him. 

At  his  question,  the  "  Hornet "  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  without  making  answer. 

"  Well,  my  man,  you  are  in  a  net,  with  your  friend 
there  to  keep  you  company.  It's  a  tight  net,  too,  no 
breaks  anywhere.  I've  got  three  or  four  husky  fel- 
lows just  outside  the  door,"  he  jerked  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder,  "  and  there  are  two  private  watchmen  on 
guard  outside  the  house.  You  fellows  could  never 
have  got  in,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  vicious  niece 
here,"  he  nodded  toward  Muriel. 


300  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  The  Hornet "  laughed,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
chair;  lazily  extending  his  hand,  he  took  a  cigarette 
from  the  table,  and  lighted  it. 

"Tight  net,  eh?  Looks  like  it  on  the  surface, 
doesn't  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It  does  not  merely  look  like  it.  It's  a  fact,"  as- 
serted Whitefield.  "  Any  reason  why  it  shouldn't  be  ?  " 

"  Several  reasons,"  drawled  the  "  Hornet."  "  The 
first  one  is  that  it's  going  to  put  you  in  a  queer  posi- 
tion. I'm  Hempstead  —  Fletcher  Hempstead,  you 
know." 

"  What  ?  "  Whitefield  gripped  the  arms  of  his 
chair.  "Fletcher  Hempstead?"  He  studied  him, 
squinting  his  eyes,  and  pursing  his  lips.  "  By  George, 
I'd  believe  you,  if  you  had  a  scar." 

"  I  lent  it  to  Vernon  there." 

Whitefield  appeared  struck  dumb  for  a  moment, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  H'm ! "  he  commented  with  sneering  contempt. 
"  A  trick  that's  quite  worthy  the  pair  of  you.  And  so 
—  you  are  the  *  Hornet '  ?  Low-down  crook  and 
thief,  eh?" 

"  We  Whitefields  can't  afford  to  indulge  in  such 
pot-and-kettle  repartee  among  ourselves,  Uncle  Wil- 
liam. Yes ;  I  am  the  '  Hornet,'  by  some  laudatory 
brother-professionals  considered  the  best  cracksman 
in  the  world.  It  took  Whitefield  brains,  and  initiative, 
and  nerve  to  reach  the  top  of  the  ladder.  You  can't 
beat  us." 

"  I  guess  I've  got  you  beat,"  returned  his  uncle  with 
conviction. 

"  Did  I  suggest  the  rather  difficult  position  you 
would  find  yourself  in,  if  you  resorted  to  extreme 
measures  ? "  interrogated  the  other  pointedly. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  301 

"  You've  got  to  show  me  that.  Bluffs  don't  go  to- 
night." Whitefield  was  curt  and  brief.  "  There's  a 
murder  charge  in  this,  remember." 

"All  right;"  the  "Hornet"  dropped  his  languor. 
"  I'm  Fletcher  Hempstead,  and  I'll  blazon  that  fact  to 
the  skies." 

"Bah!"  said  Whitefield.  "Don't  imagine  that  I 
would  let  any  sentimental  reasons  stand  in  the  way 
of  giving  you  your  deserts.  And  you,  too,  Vernon  — 
whoever  you  may  be." 

"  Oh! "  exclaimed  the  "  Hornet "  as  if  he  had  just 
remembered  something.  "  Do  excuse  my  negligence, 
Uncle  William,  and  let  me  introduce  —  Mr.  Ashe 
Colvin." 

Whitefield  went  a  bit  pale.  "  Colvin  ?  Colvin ! " 
he  muttered.  "  I  knew  he  was  in  it  somewhere,  but 
that  scar  fooled  me." 

"  And  will  you  let  me  state  that  my  cousin,  Miss 
Fletcher,  also  stands  with  us,"  continued  the  "  Hor- 
net." 

"  That  doesn't  surprise  me,"  his  uncle  spoke  with 
vigor.  "  She  has  always  been  ready  to  double-cross 
me  —  contrary  vixen.  But  it  doesn't  make  any 
difference  what  sort  of  combination  you've  got. 
Turn  over  those  papers,  or  I'll  take  means  to  make 
you." 

The  "  Hornet "  laughed  scornfully.  "  Just  start 
something,  Uncle  William.  When  the  police  come  in, 
I  shall  simply  demand  that  a  representative  of  the  dis- 
trict attorney  be  sent  for.  I  can  clear  myself  from 
the  charge  of  murdering  that  unfortunate  cop.  But 
there  is  worse  than  merely  killing  the  body,"  he  flung 
out  an  arm  toward  Colvin,  "  that  you'll  have  to  answer 
for." 


302  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

Whitefield  considered  a  few  minutes.  His  keen 
face  was  drawn  and  lined.  Then  his  mouth  set  like 
a  vise.  He  sat  bolt  upright,  and  lifting  his  arm, 
smashed  his  fist  down  on  the  table. 

"  So,  that's  your  program,  is  it  ?  Then  go  as  far  as 
you  like.  I've  a  curiosity  to  see  just  what  weight  a 
discredited  shyster  with  a  sham  scar  on  his  face  and  a 
second-story  crook  long  wanted  by  the  police  may  have 
with  the  district  attorney." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  caught  up  the  pistol,  and  held 
the  two  men  covered,  while  with  his  free  hand  he 
pressed  the  buzzer  on  the  table. 

Muriel  made  an  impulsive  rush  forward. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,"  Whitefield  ordered  sharply. 
"  One  move  for  those  papers,  and  I  shoot  your  friend, 
Colvin." 

She  shrank  back;  but  it  was  not  the  recoil  of  a 
frightened  woman,  it  was  the  crouch  of  a  panther  mak- 
ing ready  to  spring  again. 

The  door  burst  open,  and  the  butler,  with  the  other 
men-servants  crowding  behind  him,  rushed  into  the 
room. 

"  Seize  those  fellows !  "  Whitefield  commanded 
over  his  shoulder-  "  And  one  of  you  call  in  those  two 
detectives  from  the  sidewalk." 

Colvin  submitted  in  disdainful  quiet.  The  "  Hor- 
net," as  they  caught  his  arms  and  held  him,  gave  his 
deep,  sardonic  chuckle. 

"  Don't  stop  with  the  detectives,  Uncle,"  he  said. 
"  Send  for  the  camera-men,  too.  This  will  make  a 
peach  of  a  moving  picture.  Subtitle,  *  Whitefield's 
Last  Bluff/  " 

The  detectives  entered  while  he  was  speaking,  and 
took  over  the  custody  of  the  prisoners, 


THE  HORNETS  NEST  303 

"  Search  them,"  directed  Whitefield.  "  I  just  sur- 
prised them  at  work  on  my  safe.  Be  careful;  they 
are  probably  armed." 

The  "  Hornet  "  laughed  again.  "  Why  expose  your 
ignorance  of  technique,  Uncle  William?  You  belittle 
my  professional  standing.  Nobody  but  a  yegg  or  an 
amateur  would  carry  a  *  canister '  on  an  expedition 
like  this." 

The  man  who  had  been  going  over  the  "  Hornet's  " 
person  gave  an  exultant  exclamation,  and  drew  from 
inside  the  latter's  waistcoat  the  case  containing  the 
sapphires. 

"  Jewels.  My  wife's  sapphires,"  commented  White- 
field,  as  they  were  laid  upon  the  table.  "  Anything 
else?" 

"  Only  this."  The  detective  a  little  doubtfully  held 
up  the  package  containing  the  Colvin  papers.  "  Is 
it  yours,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Whitefield  took  the  envelope  and  glanced 
through  it.  "  And  taken  from  my  safe,  too.  But  of 
no  importance,"  he  laughed.  "  Merely  some  old, 
worthless  securities."  Negligently,  with  even  a  touch 
of  drama,  he  tossed  them  into  the  heart  of  the 
fire. 

He  was  rather  superb  as  he  stood  there,  nodding  in 
malevolent  triumph.  Colvin  gave  a  gasp.  "  Whip- 
sawed,"  muttered  the  "  Hornet." 

But  Muriel  —  ?  The  panther  sprang  again.  Be- 
fore any  one  realized  what  she  was  doing,  she  had 
thrust  her  hand  into  the  flames,  caught  up  the  blazing 
papers,  and  was  stamping  them  out  on  the  floor. 

A  flash  of  fire  ran  up  her  scarlet  and  gold  frock. 
Colvin  pushed  the  startled  men  about  him  aside,  and 
catching  her  in  his  arms,  dragged  her  away  from  the 


304  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

burning  papers,  and  frenziedly  beat  at  her  dress  with 
his  hands. 

It  was  over  in  a  moment,  and  but  for  her  blistered 
fingers  and  scorched  gauzes,  Muriel  was  unharmed. 
But  the  papers  on  the  hearth  had  charred  to  a  flutter- 
ing heap  of  ashes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  complete  destruction  of  the  papers,  with 
Muriel's  gallant,  if  vain  attempt  to  rescue  them, 
formed  a  swift  interlude  so  amazing,  so  unexpected, 
so  far-reaching  in  its  consequences,  that  Colvin  and 
the  "  Hornet  "  were  beyond  speech.  Their  moment  of 
dumb  defeat  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  and 
of  voices  in  the  hall  without. 

Then  through  the  open  door  of  the  study  Hazel 
Phillips  was  pushed  by  a  woman  whose  naturally  rosy 
face  was  flushed  high  with  indignation,  and  whose 
kindly  eyes  were  now  hard  and  determined. 

"Retta!"  the  "Hornet"  cried  in  utter  astonish- 
ment. 

She  looked  at  him  wildly.  "Alf!"  Her  conster- 
nation and  surprise  were  pitiful.  "  What  does  this 
mean  ?  These  men  ?  Have  they  got  you  ? "  But 
even  then  she  did  not  relax  her  grasp  on  Hazel  Phil- 
lips's  wrist. 

"It's  all  right,  Retta,"  he  reassured  her.  "But 
what's  up  ?  "  quickly.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  with 
her  ?  "  He  motioned  toward  Hazel  who  stood  sullen 
and  furious,  with  white  face  and  burning  eyes. 

"  Go  on,"  he  urged,  as  Retta  glanced  questioningly 
at  him  and  then  at  the  others,  fearing  to  involve  him 
in  what  she  had  to  say. 

"That  package  you  left  with  me,  Alf.  I  got  in 
early  this  afternoon,"  she  indicated  her  steamer  coat, 


306  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

"  and  went  at  once  to  Belle  Davis  to  find  out  how  I 
could  get  in  touch  with  you.  Of  course  I  asked  for 
those  papers,  and  she,"  Retta's  voice  choked,  "  she 
told  me  that  this  sneaking  brat  had  flimflammed  her  out 
of  them.  You'd  better  believe  I  lost  no  time  in  get- 
ting to  Miss  Phillips's  flat,  and  I  waited  there  for  her 
to  come  home.  She  didn't  dare  lie  to  me,  and  she 
confessed  that  she  had  sold  the  package  to  Mr.  White- 
field.  But  I  had  to  make  sure,  so  I  dragged  her  here, 
and  now — " 

Whitefield  broke  in  hastily  and  authoritatively.  '"  I 
can  settle  this,"  he  said.  "  There  are  too  many  in 
the  room.  You  men  wait  outside  the  door,"  giving 
his  orders  to  the  detectives.  "  Dempsey,  James,  Ste- 
phen, go  about  your  business.  Go  on.  Clear  out. 

"  Now  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  turned  threat- 
eningly to  Hazel  Phillips  as  the  door  closed  behind 
them. 

"  Can't  help  it,  Mr.  Whitefield,"  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  She  jerked  the  crisp,  new  bills  from  her 
blouse,  and  tossed  them  on  the  table  before  him. 
"  Fifty  thousand  isn't  enough  to  go  up  the  river  for. 
And  this  woman  knows  enough  to  send  me  for  twenty 
years.  She  can  prove  it,  too." 

As  Hazel  gave  back  the  money,  Retta  flew  across 
the  room,  and  cast  her  arms  about  the  "  Hornet," 
crooning  over  him  like  a  mother,  utterly  oblivious  of 
the  presence  of  the  others. 

But  although  he  had  thrown  an  arm  about  her,  his 
keen,  incisive  mind  was  grappling  with  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  new  situation.  His  eyes  telegraphed  a  swift 
question  to  Colvin,  and  as  Colvin  nodded  back,  his 
expression  showed  that  the  same  thought  was  in  his 
brain. 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  307 

The  "  Hornet "  pushed  Retta  aside  not  ungently. 
"  Dear  Uncle,  we've  got  you !  "  his  harsh  voice  purred. 

Whitefield  stood  at  bay.  "Got  me,  how?"  He 
tried  to  make  his  voice  as  insolently  secure  as 
ever. 

The  "  Hornet "  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a 
chair.  Taking  out  a  cigarette,  he  lazily  scratched  a 
match. 

"  Colvin,"  he  waved  his  hand  with  the  smoking 
match  between  his  fingers  toward  Ashe,  "  you're  the 
lawyer.  Suppose  you  explain." 

Colvin  leaned  his  elbow  easily  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  I  think  that  Mr.  Whitefield  fully  understands,"  he 
said.  "  He  has  destroyed  the  papers,  but  their  ex- 
istence and  the  character  of  their  contents  can  be  proved 
by  oral  testimony.  Hazel  Phillips,  Mrs.  Johnson  here, 
and  —  was  it  a  Belle  Davis  you  mentioned,  Mrs.  John- 
son?—  can  all  swear  that  this  package  was  endorsed, 
*  The  Colvin  Papers.'  Hazel  Phillips  has  here  ad- 
mitted that  you,  Mr.  Whitefield,  paid  her  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  for  the  recovery  of  that  package  as  the 
one  taken  from  your  safe.  In  view  of  all  these  facts, 
and  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  surrounding  the  res- 
toration of  the  package,  can  you  doubt  that  any  court 
in  the  land  would  fail  to  accept  as  genuine  the  copies 
of  those  papers  which  I  hold,  and  have  retained  all 
these  years  ?  " 

Whitefield  took  up  the  sheaf  of  bank-notes  which 
Hazel  had  thrown  upon  the  table,  and  ran  them  over 
through  his  fingers  as  if  counting  them.  He  was  evi- 
dently thinking  hard  and  fast. 

His  glancing  eyes  under  the  bushy  brows  shifted 
from  Colvin  to  the  "  Hornet,"  to  Retta,  to  Hazel  Phil- 
lips. "  The  sworn  testimony  of  a  gang  of  crooks !  " 


308  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

he  sneered.  Then  his  gaze  fell  upon  Muriel.  She 
met  it,  undaunted,  hostile,  pitiless.  This  witness  was 
unassailable. 

Whitefield,  like  a  good  poker-player,  looked  over  his 
hand.  "  It  strikes  me,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  this  is 
a  time  for  diplomacy,  and  not  for  war.  Fletcher,  see 
here;  I'll  turn  over  your  property  to  you,  and  the  girl's 
to  her  within  a  reasonable  time."  Then  he  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  straight  at  Ashe;  there  was  a  hard, 
bitter  smile  on  his  face. 

"  But  I  wouldn't  care  to  be  in  your  position,  Col- 
vin,"  he  said.  "  Frankly,  I  think  it's  worse  than  my 
own.  Of  course  you're  aiming  now  for  a  big  public 
vindication.  Yes;  that  is  undoubtedly  your  plan, 
Mr.  Colvin,  and  a  very  satisfactory  one  to  you,  I 
don't  question.  But  what  about  your  friends  here? 
iYou  are  certainly  asking  a  mighty  big  favor  of  Hemp- 
stead;  I  shall  not  refer  to  my  niece  just  now.  You 
are  asking  him  to  give  up  a  big,  comprehensive  busi- 
ness scheme.  He  has  given  years  of  thought  and 
study  to  the  development  of  it,  and  he  has  done  it 
brilliantly.  You  do  not  see  how  you  are  asking  him 
to  give  it  up  ?  "  as  Ashe  stepped  forward  impetuously. 
"  Why,  he  knows,  and  I  know,  that  it  will  take  a  long, 
long  time  for  him  to  go  ahead  with  it  unaided,  and  he 
may  then  fail,  after  all;  whereas,  with  my  practical 
knowledge  of  traction  conditions  to  assist  him,  my 
connections  and  affiliations  thrown  his  way,  my  name 
stamped  on  the  project  of  guarantee,  it  may  begin  to 
reap  his  harvest  at  once.  But  with  me  discredited, 
out  of  it  —  ?  " 

For  an  instant  no  one  seemed  to  breathe.  Over  the 
room  had  fallen  one  of  those  tense  silences,  ominous 
with  the  intimation  of  coming  storm.  Colvin  had 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  309 

paled  until  the  painted  scar  on  his  cheek  stood  out  in 
livid  prominence. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Whitefield,"  he  said. 
"  I  cannot  see  my  friends  lose." 

There  was  a  sharp  exclamation  from  Muriel,  but 
before  she  could  speak,  the  "  Hornet  "  was  on  his  feet. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  impatiently.  "  It's 
my  own  affair,  if  I  stand  to  lose  anything.  The  entire 
blame  for  this  present  muddle  rests  on  me.  I  planned 
it,  engineered  it,  was  sure  of  putting  it  through." 

Whitefield  turned  to  Ashe.  "  There,  you  see.  A 
deadlock.  You  are  hardly  the  man  to  accept  such  a 
sacrifice,  I  take  it.  And  yet,"  he  lighted  another  cigar, 
"  there  is  a  way  out." 

"  Mr.  Colvin,"  he  threw  all  the  weight  of  the  dy- 
namic Whitefield  individuality  into  his  proposition, 
"  you  have  submerged  your  identity  in  Vernon.  Well, 
'  Vernon '  has  made  a  very  good  impression.  Why 
not  remain  '  Vernon  '  ?  I  do  not  deny  that  you  have 
suffered  through  me,  although  I  do  maintain  that  I 
acted  in  self-defense.  Financially  speaking,  you  were 
just  about  to  cut  my  throat,  and  naturally  I  took  means 
to  protect  myself.  That  is  all  a  dead  issue,  though. 
'  Vernon '  to-day  could  make  a  fine  place  for  himself. 
His  social,  political,  or  business  ambitions  would  be 
furthered  to  an  unlimited  extent.  It  is  well  worth 
considering."  He  looked  at  Ashe  with  a  keen  ex- 
pectancy. 

Colvin  rested  his  hand  upon  the  back  of  a  chair 
as  if  he  felt  the  need  of  some  support.  In  the  last 
five  minutes  he  appeared  to  have  grown  five  years 
older.  The  snap  and  the  life  seemed  all  to  have  gone 
from  him. 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  he  said  slowly.     "  I  cannot 


310  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

of  course  accept  such  a  sacrifice  on  your  part,"  he 
spoke  to  the  "  Hornet ;  "  "  but  as  to  coming  back  per- 
manently as  '  Vernon  ' — ? 

"  You  see,"  he  took  a  step  across  the  room  toward 
Muriel,  and  spoke  to  her,  looked  at  her  as  if  she  were 
the  only  person  there,  "  it  has  seemed  to  me  all  these 
years  that  I  owed  something  to  Ashe  Colvin.  When  I 
promised  you  that  I  would  come  back,  I  promised  my- 
self that  it  should  be  as  Colvin.  This  may  have  been 
merely  an  egotistical  fancy — " 

"  No !  No !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  "  You  are 
Ashe  Colvin !  '  Vernon  '  is  only  a  shade.  You  shall 
not  linger  in  any  more  shadows.  You  shall  not  con- 
tinue to  skulk  under  a  borrowed  name.  We've  got  to 
face  facts  here  to-night."  She  flung  the  words  at  the 
three  men.  "  One  of  you  is  bound  to  go  under,  and 
it  isn't  going  to  be  Ashe  Colvin  a  second  time.  Once 
before  he  was  the  scapegoat,  in  order  that  things  might 
be  kept  nice  and  quiet  and  Uncle  William  pursue  his 
scandalous  ways  in  peace.  But  never  again!  You 
shall  not  play  on  that  quixotically  chivalrous,  high- 
bred strain  in  his  nature.  I  am  not  so  high-bred.  I 
am  not  too  proud  to  fight.  And  I'm  fighting  not  only 
for  him,  but  for  myself,  and  the  children  we  may 
have.  For  I'm  going  to  marry  him,  and  he's  going 
to  give  me  a  name  to  be  proud  of.  And  that  name 
is  Colvin." 

A  great  light  swept  over  Colvin's  face.  He  caught 
her  hand  strongly  in  his  own  and  held  it. 

"  You  said  that  you  would  stand  in  the  sunlight, 
waiting  for  me  until  the  Day  of  Judgment.  The  Day 
of  Judgment  is  now,  and  I  am  here  to  stay  as  Col- 
vin!" 

Whitefield  bit  down  savagely  on  the  cigar  between 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  311 

his  teeth.  "  Vindictive  to  the  last.  You  she-devil !  " 
His  eyes  were  like  coals  of  fire. 

"  I  am  not  vindictive,"  Muriel  cried.  "  I  am  too 
indifferent  to  you  and  Freda,  and  even  to  my  cousin 
there,  to  be  vindictive.  But  you  two  can't  dance,  and 
leave  the  other  man  to  pay  the  piper.  This  is  one 
of  the  things  that  shall  not  be  covered  up  any  longer, 
no  matter  how  much  dirty  linen  we  Whitefields  have 
got  to  wash  in  public." 

"  By  Jove,  you're  right,"  said  the  "  Hornet."  "  But 
look  here,"  he  moved  up  closer  to  the  table ;  "  there 
must  be  some  way  out  of  this.  There's  a  way  to  get 
around  anything  on  earth,  if  you've  only  got  the  wits 
to  see  it.  It  strikes  me  that  we  might  arrange  a 
compromise." 

Muriel  threw  her  head  up.  "Never!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  Cousin.  I'm  not  trying  to  pre- 
vent Colvin's  complete  vindication.  But  he's  been 
waiting  for  it  fifteen  years;  can't  he  wait  a  little 
longer  ?  " 

Ashe  looked  puzzled.  "  I  don't  quite  get  your  drift, 
Hempstead.  What  is  it  you  want?  " 

"  Simply  this.  New  York  isn't  going  to  be  a  very 
pleasant  place  for  you,  Uncle  William,  after  all  this 
comes  out,  and  it's  no  paradise  for  me.  But  South 
America  is  waiting  to  welcome  us  both." 

"  Ah  ? "  Whitefield  stood  a  moment  reflective. 
South  America  as  a  last  resort  was  not  an  entirely 
new  idea  to  him.  But  he  still  fought  for  terms. 

"  With  time  to  arrange  my  affairs  in  this  country, 
and  place  them  under  an  efficient  management  where 
I  should  still  exercise  control,  it  might  be  done,"  he 
granted.  "  There  would  also  have  to  be  sufficient 


312  THE  HORNET'S  NEST 

time  allowed  properly  to  swing  the  deal  upon  which 
Fletcher  and  I  are  engaged." 

"How  much  time?"   questioned  Colvin. 

"  Ninety  days?  "  suggested  the  "  Hornet."  "  That's 
long  enough,  isn't  it,  Uncle  William?" 

"  Possibly.  We  can  go  into  that  later.  I  have 
your  assurance,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Colvin,  that  there  will 
be  no  prosecution  of  any  kind,  or  action  against  me 
in  the  courts?  " 

This  was  the  question  for  which  Colvin  had  been 
waiting.  "  On  one  condition,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no 
desire  for  revenge.  I  am  seeking  only  my  rehabili- 
tation. And  to  obtain  that,  I  must  have  a  written 
statement  from  you  which  will  contain  the  substance  of 
those  burned  documents,  and  fully  exonerate  me." 

"  You  couldn't  well  ask  more,  Uncle  William,"  said 
the  "  Hornet."  "  Scandal  soon  dies,  and  South  Amer- 
ica is  a  long  way  off?  " 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  It  was  broken  by  Hazel 
Phillips,  who  during  this  consultation  had  been  sitting 
huddled  in  a  chair,  intently  watching  the  face  of  first 
one  man  and  then  another.  Now  she  stood  up,  but- 
toned her  jacket,  and  straightened  her  hat. 

"  So  ends  my  career  in  high  finance."  She  gave  a 
little,  bitter,  reckless  laugh. 

Whitefield  turned  with  a  start,  and  looked  at  her; 
he  had  quite  forgotten  her  presence.  A  flicker  of 
aroused  interest  passed  over  his  furrowed  face. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  said.  "  Not  so  fast.  I  keep  my 
bargains.  And  don't  think  I'm  out  of  it,  either.  I 
have  said  I  would  make  your  fortune,  and  I'll  do 
it. 

"  I  have  a  curiosity  to  see  how  far  you'll  go.  Here," 
he  pushed  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  her  across  the 


THE  HORNET'S  NEST  313 

table ;  "  take  it.  It  is  yours.  You  earned  it.  And 
come  and  see  me  at  my  office,  as  you  planned." 

She  stared  down  at  the  money.  Then  her  eager 
hands  reached  out  and  clutched  it.  Her  insouciance, 
her  sparkle,  her  soaring  self-confidence  was  restored 
to.  her  in  superlative  measure. 

The  "  Hornet  "  turned  to  Retta.  "  You  had  better 
go,  too,"  he  suggested.  "  I  will  be  along  as  soon  as 
I  can  leave  here  —  No  use  leaving  anything  at  loose 
ends,"  he  added,  as  the  two  women  left  the  room. 
"  Let's  get  right  down  to  it,  and  draft  out  that  state- 
ment for  Uncle  William  to-night."  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  It  is  early  yet." 

Whitefield  demurred.  "But  I  will  need  my  secre- 
tary," he  said.  "  He  hasn't  shown  up  this  evening." 

Muriel  turned  her  head  languidly  over  her  shoulder. 
"  Is  it  Everett  you  want,  Uncle  William  ?  He's  tied 
up  in  his  office." 

"Tied  up?  Great  Scott!"  Whitefield  started  for 
the  door.  The  "  Hornet  "  burst  out  laughing,  and  fol- 
lowed him. 

The  moment  they  two  were  alone,  Colvin's  arms 
closed  about  Muriel. 

"Will  you  really  help  me  build  my  life  again?" 
he  asked. 

"  Love  of  my  life,  we'll  build  a  world,  and  a  king- 
dom, and  a  home  together." 

"  And  when  will  you  marry  me,  heart  of  my  heart  ?  " 

"  I  told  Uncle  William  that  I  was  leaving  this  house 
to-night,"  replied  the  intrepid  girl. 

THE   END 


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